James Dean Daydream
by katierosefun
Summary: [Modern day spy Whouffaldi AU.] Clara Oswald has one of the most interesting jobs in the world. She works for the government, goes on a few missions to get through to possible moles, et cetera. In other words, Clara had a somewhat stable environment built around herself. That all changes, however, when Clara finds herself with a new partner – a man who goes by 'the Doctor'.
1. And There They Were

**Hiya! Katierosefun aka Caroline here with my first ever AU multi-chap Whouffaldi story! I've been working on the first few chapters for a while - and...I've been pretty psyched about it, mainly because I've never actually written an AU like this before. So...with that being said, enjoy!**

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_Chapter One. And There They Were _

When she was a child, she didn't think that she'd work for the government. She thought she'd grow up to be a soufflé chef, because her mum had told her she was good at making soufflés. Then again, Clara Oswald had also thought she'd become a worldwide traveler and be the first woman to go to Venus, even if that wasn't possible yet.

But here Clara Oswald was, standing in the elevator with hands clasped in front of herself and acting as the image of professionalism. With an impressively pouty set of polished, red lips, mascara-coated eyelashes, and dark, shiny hair piled up in an elegant bun, Clara looked like the kind of woman who could get away with anything and everything. _Oh, she's the expert, _people would think when looking at her. They'd nod at her approvingly, or admiringly, or enviously. Either way, the truth was plain and simple – Clara Oswald worked an important job and was good at it.

And they were right.

_Secret government work, _Clara thought to herself humorlessly as the elevator doors opened. She stepped out, high heels clicking against the clean, marble floors. _Who would have known that Little Clara could have reached this far? _

She bobbed her head in acknowledgement to the secretary, a blonde named Rose Tyler, who gave her a small smile, saying, "Big day today!" Clara only gave Rose a tight-lipped smile in return. Rose was the new one in the entire agency – and therefore the friendliest. It was a bit tiring, but Clara knew how bad it felt to be the only one smiling when she was first appointed.

But what Rose had said was true. Today _was _a big day for Clara – today, she would meet her new partner. She had received background information about him last night over email from one of the officials. (Clara couldn't be bothered to remember his name at the moment.) According to the email, the new partner was didn't have a proper birth name (or at least, it didn't show), though he was known as the Doctor by many. He was Scottish, fifty-six years of age, and didn't have any living relations. The email had come with a picture of the Doctor as well, which revealed that he was a man of greying, somewhat curly hair, sharp eyebrows, and wide, calculating blue-grey eyes. Clara had looked over the email thoughtfully – calculating meant smart, and smart meant potentially cooperative.

_Potentially. _

When Clara reached the conference room, she thought she knew what to expect. Quick introductions – a subtle and cool nod to each other – and perhaps go over any possible missions or assignments for the two of them. Maybe a few practice sessions together, too.

Instead, Clara was faced with something different. She didn't have trouble recognizing the Doctor, but the circumstances were definitely…different. For one, he was sitting at the head of the table, hands folded together atop the surface and alone. "Clara Oswald," he said. (He declared this as more of a statement, not a question.)

Clara blinked, spending a quick second to look around the room. Were there going to be any officials or…no? It would just be her, then? Fine.

She turned to the Doctor and said with a stretch of her hand, "Down to business, I'm assuming – yes, I'm Clara Oswald. You're to be my new partner."

_(You'll be my new partner then, yeah?" he asked cheerfully, brown-green eyes glittering happily. Clara Oswald slowly nodded, unsure of how to properly respond to his enthusiasm. She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and managed to say, "You're John Smith?" _

_"That's me," the man replied. He peered down at Clara. He had to – he was nearly a foot taller than her. "And you're Clara Oswald?" _

_"That's me," Clara replied. _

_"Great!" John said happily, clapping his hands together. He turned to his desk and started to go through the drawers. After a few minutes of going through them, he looked up with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, just give me a moment; my things just always seem to be crowded in here. I've got this assignment that we were supposed to work on together –"_

_"Already?" Clara asked with a frown. __John cringed. "Already," he confirmed, allowing the first notes of weariness to slip through. However, he braced on another smile and added, "But it's nothing too major, I don't think. Just a few hacks here and there – we should be able to get through it in a few hours."_

_"Oh," Clara murmured. __John smiled up at Clara. "Are you nervous?" he asked, his hands still searching through the desk drawers. Clara re-adjusted her grip on her binders and looking up at the ceiling, replied, "First day of ever having a job like this – I think I'm allowed to be nervous."_

_"I wasn't judging you," John said gently. Clara looked back down at John. He was staring intently at Clara – in a way that made her feel too close to him. Just in case, she backed away a few small steps. She still felt too close. "Really," Clara only hummed. John's voice was warm when he spoke. "Yes, really," he said. He leaned over, his eyes never leaving Clara's face. She felt her cheeks beginning to burn – and she couldn't stop it. "If you ever feel nervous or scared or anxious about it all, don't hesitate to tell me. I promise I'll help. Do you understand?" he asked, his voice soft. _

_Clara felt as though time was slowing down around the two. She felt her muscles loosen, her lips part slightly. "Yes," she squeaked out. _

_Then, John flashed Clara a wide grin. "Wonderful," he said, and pulled away. He looked down at the desk and yanked out a large folder. "Ah, here it is!" _

_Clara Oswald was, in a manner of speaking, definitely screwed.) _

The Doctor didn't take Clara's hand. He merely looked at her – his eyes slowly traveled up from her shins to her face. A small smirk appeared on his lips, something that sent an annoyed jolt through Clara. "Correction," he said, ignoring Clara's hand. He stood up and leaning against the table, continued coolly, "_You're_ to be my new partner. Not the other way around." Clara's hand lowered. She could feel her nerves steeling at his words. Clara kept her face as clear of emotion as possible as she replied, "And what evidence do you have on that? I was told that _I_ would be assigned a new partner after my previous partner's leaving."

"Well, _you_ might think that, but you see, I'll be the one in charge of this entire…shebang," the Doctor responded with a careless wave of his hand. He looked over at Clara with another smirk and said, "I'm sure you'll find this position…tolerable." He stood up, and straightening his coat, gave a small nod to Clara and started to walk across the room.

"Is that it?" Clara asked as the Doctor pushed past her. She could practically feel the Doctor stilling by the door. "Excuse me?" was his reply. Closing her eyes, Clara said, "Is that all? A _hello, I'm the big, bad boss now – hope you're okay with that_?"

"That's where you're wrong," the Doctor replied. Clara sensed that he hadn't moved a single inch from his position by the door. She could already envision his lips curling into a sneer. "I didn't _hope_ or _ask _for your permission in this partnership." The sound of a door swinging open was heard. "Good day, Ms. Oswald."

The door swung to a close.

_("So. Hacks," Clara murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and glaring down at the computer screen. It was littered with different numbers and images, all scrabbled with glitches and different code sequences. To the regular citizen, it wouldn't have looked more than just a bunch of gobbledygook. Then again, Clara Oswald wasn't the regular citizen. _

_And neither was John Smith. _

_"We can't track down the signal, either – they've done a quick job of coding up their sources." John said quietly from behind Clara's shoulders. She could feel his breath tickling the skin of her exposed neck – could sense John only centimeters away from her back. Keeping her eyes glued to the screen, Clara whispered, "And have you tried finding patterns in the code?" _

_"Tried – didn't work through the computer," John confessed. He pulled up a chair and tapping on a few buttons on the keyboard, added, "I've been thinking that whoever's trying to hack in decided to choose a different way of disguising the signal – probably doing it by him or herself." _

_Clara lifted an eyebrow. "But wouldn't that be risky? It'd be much better and easier to use a random code to hide the signal," she replied. John shook his head. "It's kind of like how kids play hide-and-seek – you can hide in the trees, and no one would really find you easily because no one bothers looking up. It's the easiest hiding spot, really – but people choose to overlook it because it's so easy." Clara couldn't help but to grin. "Really?" she asked lightly. "When I was younger, I _always _used to look up at the trees to find my friends." _

_John beamed. "I knew there was a reason I liked you," he said enthusiastically. He brought up another folder and said, "I've narrowed down possible people who might have tried to hack into the files – we could take a look at their background info and try to guess the pattern in the actual system." _

_"You did that by yourself?" Clara asked, looking through the papers. She blinked and murmured, "I thought we were a team." _

_"No, we are!" John said hurriedly. He flashed a semi-guilty smile at Clara. "I just – did this before I actually knew you were going to be my partner," he added haltingly. Clara drummed her fingers against the desk. "Are you sure of that? Can't be too sure, you know." _

_Clara had meant that comment to be a joke, but John replied with such sincerity that she found herself hoping she wouldn't sound too serious from that moment on. "Clara, I believe in teamwork," John said slowly. "Trust me; I'm not planning on leaving you out anytime soon." He hesitated. "At least, unless you want me to." _

_"No, of course not," Clara replied quietly.) _

Letting out a long, slow breath, Clara re-opened her eyes. She stared blankly at the seat the Doctor had been just a few minutes ago. _I'll be the one in charge, _the Doctor had said. Clara felt her hands curl tightly into little, frustrated fists. Was that so?

Pursing her lips, Clara whirled around and opened the door. She marched down the long hallway – and it didn't take her too long to re-find the Doctor. He was standing in front of the elevator, leisurely checking his wristwatch. Clara felt an irrelevant flash of vexation at that small action – how dare he act so calm and at peace at this time?

"You," she barked, ignoring the looks of surprise shot at her by other officials. The Doctor turned around, eyebrows lifted. "Yes?" he asked coolly. Clara didn't waste any time. She thrust a finger at the Doctor's chest and said, "If we are _ever _going to work this partnership, there's one thing you'll need to fucking _understand_ about me and one thing only." Eyes flitting upwards to meet his, Clara whispered, "I do not _ever _depend on someone in a relationship. So if you think I'd make an exception for you, you're _very _wrong."

The Doctor stared steadily back at Clara. "And I think you'll have to know that I don't take orders from anyone, Ms. Oswald – and I'm certainly not willing to make an exception for you, either." He replied. Clara narrowed her eyes at the Doctor. "Don't care," she shot back, her voice lowering even further. Drawing herself up to the Doctor, Clara hissed, "When we work together tomorrow, I want you to acknowledge me as my partner – as your equal – not a typical worker."

"You'll have to prove me otherwise to get me to accept that," was the Doctor's quick response. At that moment, the elevator doors opened with a soft bing. He turned and without giving a farewell this time, stepped into the elevator. The last Clara saw of the Doctor that day were his sharp, calculating, _uncooperative _eyes.

xXx

Clara's flat was dark when she walked in. The place was large, too, so it created a number of dangerous and threatening looking shadows on the walls. Clara quickly turned on the lights at that. Even then, however, Clara found herself silently wishing that she didn't have to look at the walls.

The colorful walls were decorated with photographs and framed pictures of all kinds – some of a pair of hands holding onto each other, some of Clara's deceased mother, some of her friends…but most of the pictures were of a heart-achingly familiar face.

_("You have a camera," John stated as his eyes landed on Clara's desk. The brunette gave John an embarrassed smile as he picked the camera up. "I don't really know how to use it," she explained. "Most of the time, I just use my phone to take pictures. You know, with a simple press of a button and all that." _

_"Why?" John asked quizzically. He held the camera up to his face and from behind it, added, "It's really the same thing – but with a camera, you can really _enhance _everything. Change the lights, focus on the smaller details, emphasize the things that you think are important. You can't do that with your phone." _

_"Yes, but we have filters on our phones that remove all of the unwanted blemishes on our faces," Clara joked. She gently plucked the camera out of John's hands and fiddling with the knobs, said, "I haven't really found anything worth taking a real, proper picture of, anyways. I mean, most of the photos in my phone are rubbish, too – most of them for work." __John cringed. "Photos of random old men and women who might possibly want to hack into computer systems or commit a crime against the government," he replied with a nod. "I could see why it'd be unappealing to really look at them through your phone." He looked back down at the camera and grinned. "Tell you what," he said, taking back the little device. He tugged at Clara's arm and pulled her to his side, despite her protests. "Let's take a picture of ourselves. No phone – just the good, old-fashioned camera."_

_Clara lifted an eyebrow at John, her voice teasing when she spoke. "Are you saying we're worthy to have our photograph taken?" she asked. A faint blush arose in John's cheeks. He swatted at Clara's arm playfully and answered, "Well…no. Not me, anyways. Maybe you." He paused and then, shaking his head, went on, "I mean – that is, if you _wanted _it to be you. Not that I'm saying that you _wouldn't _be an awful person to take a picture of, just that –"_

_"John." Clara interrupted, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. John quickly stopped talking, looking down at Clara with earnest eyes. "Yes?" he asked. _

_Breathing in, Clara smiled and said, "Just take the picture.") _

Clara spared herself only a few minutes to look at those photographs. She reached out an arm, the tips of her fingers just barely hovering over the photos, and then quickly withdrew as if she had been burned. Blinking frantically, Clara turned around and ducked into her bedroom. She blindly tore through the drawers of her dresser, pawing through her clothes until she could find the proper attire to dress into for the night.

Once doing so, Clara practically sprinted to the bathroom – and again, tried to avoid looking at the pictures. She didn't really stop moving until she was actually in the bathtub. Starting up the water, Clara sat down on the cool tiles of the floor. Her hands automatically started to sweep up to her blouse – to her skirt – to her stockings – to undress, but besides that, Clara didn't move. She threw the clothes into a lifeless heap in the corner of the bathroom, not even giving it a second glance. She felt as though someone else was stripping away the clothing for her; someone else was undoing her hair; someone else was wiping her face clean of make-up.

Clara Oswald was still sitting on the bathroom floor, patiently waiting for this person to be finished.

Closing her eyes, Clara leaned over and let her hands submerge into the water. She ignored the icy feeling of the bathtub being pressed against the rest of her naked body; ignored the fact that steam was slowly beginning to rise around the room. Clara let out a long, tired breath and lowered herself into the tub.

For the first few minutes, Clara didn't really do too much of washing herself; more so observing how the water would rise and fall each time she would move around. To be honest, she wasn't quite bothered by her lack of interest in really carrying on with anything in the room. In fact, she found herself doing this by herself too much these days.

_(But who could blame her?) _

Suddenly, a sharp buzz echoed around the bathroom. Clara looked back to see her phone vibrating in the pile of clothes that she had left on the floor. Shaking her head, Clara pushed herself out of the bathtub (ignoring the little mess of puddles she was leaving behind,) and snatched up her phone. Sinking back into the warm water, Clara held the phone up in front of her to read a single message –

_Are you going to come tonight? _

Clara pressed her lips together. She tapped back a reply –

_Of course. Washing myself. Gonna be there in a half an hour. Wouldn't miss it for the world. _

When not receiving another message, Clara placed the phone at the edge of the tub (where the water wouldn't hit the surface) and began scrubbing herself down. The message had been from Amelia Pond. Like Clara herself, Amelia was another person who worked in the government. The two didn't really know each other well – she worked in a different department – but they _did _have something in common, even if it was something that they both didn't like.

In less than fifteen minutes, Clara was back out of the bathroom. She molded herself into her chosen outfit, threw on her coat, and headed back out of the flat with only phone in hand. Clara's hair was still damp from the bath, but she didn't pay much attention to that. She was sure that Amelia wouldn't care too much about what she looked like, either.

"Trenzalore Graveyards, please," Clara said when she got into a cab. The driver nodded, but didn't stop to shoot Clara a sympathetic look. Clara ignored it. She had gotten used to the stares, the sad smiles that were given to her whenever she repeated the location's name. It used to bother Clara, but that was a long time ago.

_(John, with a wide smile and his arm still wrapped around Clara, snapped the picture.) _

xXx

Trenzalore Graveyards always looked too dark whenever Clara visited. There was a mess of gravestones everywhere – all in different shapes and sizes, due to the amount of money put into them. Some gravestones were more like monuments – with great, towering statues or pillars or abstract metallic forms of art to represent the loved one. But the gravestone Clara was looking for didn't really have a big statue or monument, even though the person who the gravestone belonged to was very, v_ery _loved.

After a few moments of scanning the graveyard, Clara found Amelia Pond. She was standing next to her husband, a lovely man named Rory Williams, who also worked in the same department as her. It was all a bit secret, of course, but Clara figured that Amelia and Rory liked it that way for now.

"Looks like you've come on time again," Amelia commented when Clara walked towards them. She managed a small smile and nodded at the gravestone. "How could I? He'd kill me if I ever showed up late for something," she replied, trying to make her tone light. Amelia simply rolled her eyes. "No, he wouldn't," she said. "He'd come late to his own funeral, probably."

Clara paused. She looked down at the gravestone, and feeling a lump lodge itself in her throat, whispered, "Probably."

"Um – Amy and I cleaned up the grave a bit before you came here," Rory said after a moment of silence. He pointed halfheartedly at the area. "We did our best."

Clara nodded again. "It looks nicer," she murmured. Then, she knelt down on her knees and cast a long, hard stare at the gravestone. Engraved over the smooth, shining black rock was written the words,

_John Smith XI. Beloved friend, brother, son._

_Geronimo._

Clara smiled sadly at the last word, her fingers tracing over the carefully engraved letters. It was silly – something that shouldn't be placed over something as serious as a gravestone, but John would have wanted it. And he would have wanted to go off with a bang. (Which he did. Quite literally.) She felt tears beginning to burn in her eyes, just as they had done in the past two years John had been gone. Bowing her head, Clara left her hands over the gravestone.

_("Trust me; I'm not planning on leaving you out anytime soon. At least, unless you want me to.") _

"No," Clara whispered. "Of course not."

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**A/N - There you have it! First chapter! How'd I do? Reviews would be great, especially since I'm going into uncharted territory here. (Whouffaldi AU-wise, of course.) Constructive criticism is tolerable, but flames are not! **


	2. Full of Grit

**I managed to write this chapter. Phew - still exploring this new territory, though I daresay I might get the hang of it soon. Enjoy!**

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_Chapter Two. Full of Grit _

Clara didn't fall asleep until it was nearly two in the morning. And even then, sleep was something that didn't come naturally to her. At least, not these days. She spent the majority of her time looking up at the ceiling – at her blankets – at her phone screen – at her laptop – until she could wallow herself back up in another terrifying nightmare. The simple truth was that Clara was dreading sleep these days. If the daytime had been awful enough, it was when night fell did everything seem to fall apart in front of Clara Oswald's eyes.

And no one really knew about it, except for perhaps Amelia and Rory – and that was only because she knew that they, too, suffered from their own terrors. _But at least they have each other, _Clara thought bitterly to herself, rolling over on her side. She let her fingers trail over her hip, and then linger there. A shiver ran up her spine at the thought of who might have been able to calm her down – or at least make her feel safe – before.

But he wasn't here anymore.

_("So. We're looking into the world of nightmares and psychological issues," Clara said as she slid out a file from her bag. She placed it neatly in front of John, who was already beginning to scan through it. "I've been informed that the person we're looking for suffers from them – buys pills and medicines of all kinds, only just last week, he took an extreme amount." She tapped her finger on the desk. "And then suddenly, one of the leading members of our team ends up dead. How do you think that happened?" _

_"I'm assuming this man was associated with the late member?" John asked, looking over the folder at Clara. She gave him a single nod. "Turns out that they were good friends – and he swears that he didn't kill him, but evidence proves otherwise. It's all a bit tricky, though – there's too many variables that we have to deal with to really pinpoint the crime on him." _

_John sighed. He lowered the file back down on the table and spun around to his computer. "Nightmares, huh?" he asked over his shoulder. "Seems like a sensitive topic – already thinking of setting up a fake identity to get through to this guy. We might be able to extract some information out of him without having to go to him head-on." He typed up a few sentences and then added, "Clara, have you ever experienced from nightmares?" _

_Clara did a double-take. She stared at the back of John's head, wondering what might have caused him to ask such a question. Folding her arms across her chest, she gave a small shrug. "I've had my fair share of them," she replied slowly. "But I mean, don't we all? We all have those nightmares – monsters under the bed, ghosts lurking behind the curtains…" Her voice drifted as John's typing slowed down. He turned again, only his eyes were much more focused on Clara's face. _

_"Nightmares," he repeated quietly. "Exactly – everyone's had them." _

_"Why do you ask, though?" Clara asked suddenly. She leaned against the desk. The next question ripped out of her lips without any warning. "Do _you _get nightmares? Bad ones?" _

_John hesitated. He lowered his eyes from Clara and twiddling his thumbs, replied with a weak smile, "You said it yourself – everyone gets them." He let out a sigh and then said, "But yes, I get nightmares. Pretty horrific ones, at that." He gave a small chuckle. Then, he pulled the keyboard out in front of Clara. "But enough of that – we should get back to work.") _

Clara flopped over on her stomach and pressed her face against her pillow to smother the silent screams fighting to escape her mouth. She tangled her legs into the blankets, toenails digging into the mattress and arms splayed out on each side of her body.

_This. _

_This was the worst part of the night. _

xXx

Clara made sure that she would be at the office early – at least, before the _Doctor_. She had her laptop already set up and running, had covered up any signs of discomfort or tiredness with makeup, and in other words, she was ready to spark the needed bits of professionalism. So there she was – filing reports in her laptop, clicking her heels against the tiles of her office floor, and waiting for her new partner to walk in.

Which, eventually, he did.

"Already trying to intimidate, are we now?" the Doctor asked aloud, sitting himself down in the seat across Clara's desk. Clara pressed her lips together, though she chose not to respond. Instead, keeping her eyes glued to her laptop screen, Clara snapped her fingers down at the folder on the desk. "Look," she said briskly. "Task in the folder. I've already reviewed the basics, but you'll need to do some analyzing on your own before we actually dive in."

From the corner of her eye, Clara watched the Doctor let out a soft chuckle. Frowning, she asked, "Is there something amusing about this?"

The Doctor was looking straight at Clara now – and realizing that she wasn't getting anywhere, the brunette managed to turn her head so she'd be looking at him head-on. The Doctor was, Clara noted with a chill running up her spine, smirking at her quite…_knowingly_, almost, as if he had an idea of everything that was circulating around the room – s if _he _was the clever one.

"You want to work as an equal," the Doctor pronounced slowly. "And now you're…ha." He shook his head, and eyes travelling to the ceiling, said, "Should've known I'd get a control freak as a _partner_."

_("I am _not _a control freak," Clara said stubbornly, throwing a paperback at John's head. He ducked immediately, just narrowly missing the book. With a grin, he replied, "Sure you are." He gestured around the office. "Just look at this. I don't think I've really properly cleaned up this place until you came around." _

_He walked over to his desk and started playing with the pencils – which Clara had put in a neat order, all by size – and added, "I mean, look at this, Clara! Organized pencils!" He pointed around the room. "Everything in boxes and containers and drawers – it's killing me!" John pretended to choke himself, gasping, "It's awful! It's not me!" _

_Clara harrumphed, placing her hands on her hips. "Well," she shot back, "just last night, we couldn't find the proper files we needed for our task. I decided to clean this place up because if that was to happen _again _– and I'm sure it will – we'll need the place to be in pristine condition, whether you like it or not." _

_John stuck his tongue out at Clara, mumbling, "Still a control freak." _

_Clara risked a smirk at John. With a toss of hair over her shoulder, the brunette said loftily, "Shut up – you know you love it.") _

"I am _not _a control freak," Clara automatically retorted. "I'm just trying to get things done. There will be no shirking off on duties on my watch, thank you very much." The Doctor shook his head again, this time saying a bit softer, "_Control freak_…"

"Are you going to read the files or _not_?" Clara asked abruptly, pushing the folder closer to the Doctor. "Because if you're not, I'd be more than happy to report how childish you're behaving."

"_I'm _acting childish? Remember who you're talking to, dear," the Doctor replied, picking up the folder. Clara bristled at those words, spitting out, "And _you _should remember who _you're _talking to." She punched the keys of her laptop a bit harder, adding, "And for goodness' sake, we won't get _any _work done if you continue to be so _uncooperative_."

The Doctor, to Clara's relief, did not respond. Instead, he simply huffed out a sigh and took hold of the folder. He flipped it open and started rifling through the papers inside, occasionally muttering something unintelligible under his breath whenever reading something he might not have liked. (Or maybe it was nothing at all – maybe the Doctor just had weird quirks. That wouldn't surprise Clara.)

"Runaway mole?" the Doctor said at last, looking up to Clara. The brunette nodded her head briskly, replying, "We don't know how we got past all the security, but it's definitely possible he might have bribed the guards or the technicians. They're all being questioned right now." The Doctor pushed the folder back on the desk. He folded his hands on his lap – and said simply, "Ah, yes. Question the most predictable people. Always works in crime shows."

Clara chose to ignore the comment. Scrolling through her laptop, she added, "We can watch the interrogation on recording later. For now, we've been given some lead that there's been a trail of suspicious killings on a way out of one of our other facilities. It might be him." The Doctor held up the folder, replying, "Or it could be just one of his friends to throw us off his trail, but sure. Let's call it him." Clara shrugged her shoulders. "That could be a possibility," she said as casually as she could. "But for now, that's all we got."

"Right, then," the Doctor replied, standing up. He placed the folder back on the desk and stood up. "Are we going to –"

"Take a cab; go to the actual crime scenes? Yes." Clara cut off. She threw her jacket over herself and without waiting to see if the Doctor was following her, the brunette walked out of the room. The soft steps of dress shoes, however, told Clara that the Doctor was indeed only a few paces behind her. She looked around the long corridors – at this time, people were walking in and out of doors, only stopping to give a nod or so to certain workers.

"Already leaving? Should I call someone to drive you two?" Rose called from the front desk. Clara turned and with a shake of her head, responded, "It's fine, thank you. We were thinking of taking a more casual and subtle way of travelling." Rose shrugged her shoulders. "If you say so," she replied. Her curious, bright blue eyes flicked over to the Doctor's, saying, "And _you _must be Miss Oswald's new partner!"

"She's my new partner. Not the other way around," the Doctor only said. Clara bristled at those words and turned to look at Rose, who appeared startled – but in the next moment, she had recovered from the sudden comment and had another cheerful, knowing smile on her face. "Ah, I see," the secretary replied. "Well, then, you two – have a good one!" With that, she swiftly turned back to the computer to work on…whatever she was doing in her own work hours.

The second Clara and the Doctor were in the elevator together, the brunette hissed through gritted teeth, "What was _that _all about?" The Doctor didn't even spare her a look. "You said we're supposed to be equals," he replied. "I can't have everyone thinking that you're the boss. I very much have a role in this partnership as well, don't I?"

"_Yes_, but _you _made it sound as if _you _were the boss in the partnership!" Clara retorted. She kept her eyes trained on the elevator doors, even when they opened. She brisk-walked out of the area – and pushed herself through the doors, automatically lifting a hand to hail a cab in the busy streets. She ignored the fact that the Doctor was standing right beside her – and doing the same thing. However, to her childish glee, Clara found that she had actually managed to get a cab before the Doctor could. That feeling was gone within a second, however, when the Doctor (had the nerve!) to open the door. "Ladies first," he said, gesturing to the interior of the cab.

Clara only narrowed her eyes at the Doctor. "Do you think you're doing me favors by offering that gesture?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow. The Doctor's upper lip curled into a humorless smile. "You're certainly a tough person to please," he said coolly. Clara pressed her lips together, but instead of responding, she scooted into the cab. She took a second to wait for the Doctor to slide into the seat next to her. When he did so, Clara recited the address that was given to her in the file – and off the two went.

The cab ride to the location was, if anything, extremely tense and awkward. Clara kept her eyes staring out the window, at the passing people and shops and anything that might provide itself to be a distraction from the Doctor. He, too, Clara knew, was keeping himself busy as well. Clara could see that their heads were actually turned away from each other – and comically enough, both of their arms were crossed over their chests.

_("Oh, stop looking at me like that!" John said indignantly. "You're scaring me a little, with that pout and those…arms! You're doing the thing with the arms! And your eyes! And the –"_

_"I _told _you to relax!" Clara interrupted. She turned on the rest of the lights, ignoring the way John flinched. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and murmured, "Clara…." The brunette stomped forward and jabbing a finger at his face, said, "Don't _Clara _me, John! Look at this!" She pushed the papers off the desk, exclaiming, "Working late hours! Stressing over the smallest imperfections! Not getting enough sleep, not eating enough…" She let out a long sigh. "Come on, John," she said wearily. "Put it away for a while, yeah? Let's just…clean this up and try again later." _

_There was a long silence before John spoke. With a weak smile, he pushed himself away from his desk and stood up. "Alright, Clara," he said quietly. "Alright." He let out a small laugh. "Looks like you could always spur up enough grit to get me to do something." The corner of Clara's lips managed to twitch up into a halfhearted smile. "Don't try flattery, John," she said with a shake of her head. "It won't get you anywhere.") _

The Doctor cleared his throat and turning to look at Clara, said, "I took the liberty of calling the other members ahead, just to let them know we were coming." Clara felt herself automatically bristle at those simple words – because even though it was technically correct for him to do so, it annoyed Clara how she hadn't done it herself in the first place. "I'm assuming you've already prepared yourself for what we might see, then," Clara said stiffly. The Doctor let out a bark of laughter, saying, "Trust me, Miss Oswald – I'm sure I've seen much worse in my lifetime than any other person in this little organization that we take a part in." Clara spared a moment to look at the Doctor. His head was still turned towards the window, so Clara could only stare at the back of his neck.

_What's _that _supposed to mean? _She wanted to ask, but didn't bother doing so. Now that she considered it, Clara wasn't even sure _what _the Doctor had been doing before he became partners with her. It was already clear from the report Clara had seen that he was talented – bright – obviously been in the organization for a while, though he preferred solitude than anything else. (Which was probably why Clara hadn't seen him until now.) So then – what changed him into taking on a partnership? Or rather, who persuaded him into this one in the first place?

Clara shook her head to herself. If he didn't want a partnership – which was evident – then he shouldn't have agreed to this at the start. Or he should have at least backed out. That would be the sensible thing to do, rather than toss around one's own weight and play the boss all the time.

xXx

Clara and the Doctor had to retreat to the tunnels that ran underneath the streets and flats to meet up with the other members of the organization. From where she stood, Clara could recognize some of her old acquaintances back when she was still working with John. Jack Harkness – a handsome, young American man who had transferred to this organization through pure boredom and talent – was looking down at the remains of what was one of the bodies that the suspect might have killed off. Martha Jones – a pretty, intelligent woman with dark skin and darker hair was standing by Jack, her eyes narrowed in concentration and a notepad in her hands. And of course, Clara could see Amelia. She was crouched by one of the remains – a severed arm, by the looks of it – and the Scot gave her a solemn nod before going back to observing the body part.

"Glad to see you could join us," Martha said, tapping her pen lightly against the pad. She circled around the arm – and heading up to Clara and the Doctor, added, "There's much more to see, but this was what Jack and I decided to look at first while waiting for you two."

"Ah," Clara only said and she looked down at the arm. "Is there anything you gathered about the victim?"

"We got an alert from one of the departments just a few minutes ago, in fact," Jack said, holding out his phone. "Ah…the person who _used _to have this arm was a young woman named Mandy Stanguard. Age of thirty-one years – blonde hair, blue eyes. Approximately five foot six and her family is being contacted right now." He grimaced. "They're going to be in for a nasty surprise."

"Anything else about her? Any word on how she might be associated with the mole?" the Doctor asked, nearing the arm. Amelia stood up, replying, "We gathered that she was nothing but a neighbor of his, but investigations are being furthered as we speak." She pointed to a corner of the dim tunnel – and faintly, Clara could make out a red dot. "There were cameras. Here, here, and here…" Amelia pressed her lips together. "And for someone who used to work for this, I don't think this person was too neat in his murders." Letting out a dry laugh, she said, "You would think he'd be smarter by trying to cover his murders. But I suppose his technician friends can only help him so far…"

The Doctor started to walk over to the cameras. He inspected them with his head tilted to the left – and after a few seconds of silence, he asked, "Are we going to get the footage?" Amelia looked down at her phone. "Already ahead of you," she murmured. "We'll be getting it at the station." She nodded down the tunnel. "But not right away. There's still some more…things that you might want to see."

Clara let out a long, hopefully steady breath. "Right, then," she said. "What are we waiting for?"

* * *

**A/N - And the plot somewhat thickens. *puffs out a breath* _Huh..._**

**Reviews are always welcome! Constructive criticism is tolerable, but flames are not!**


	3. Full of Loathing

**I feel like I haven't written any fanfiction in ****_forever_****, even though it's only been about a week. See, this is my problem. I've invested myself completely into this fandom. I can't remember the last time I hadn't thought of Whouffaldi at least once.*lifts arms in the air and screams in Eleven's voice* YOU HAVE IT! ****_YOU HAVE IT AAAAALL! _**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter Three. Full of Loathing _

The tunnel was smelly. And dark, even despite the lights that were set up around the corners. Not to mention that the tension that hung over everyone was as thick and heavy as a storm cloud. Clara, even though she had been in worse situations, shivered. She could hear the clicks of everyone's shoes tapping against the ground – and it echoed around and around the tunnel, associated with the sound of everyone's breaths. She spared a moment to look back at the Doctor, who, to her annoyance, returned the gesture. His eyes fixed onto Clara's and sucking in a quick breath, the brunette turned away.

"How much further?" Clara asked Jack. He grimaced, and turning back to look at her, replied, "A little more ways to go. Our friend was very…spread out in his killings." With that, the group lapsed back into silence. Clara folded her arms over her chest and kept her eyes to the ground – and slowly, drops of blood came to view. "Um…" she murmured and Martha responded, "We know. This was actually the trail we followed."

"Still incredibly messy for someone who used to work for us," Clara heard the Doctor murmur. "Are we still sure it's him?"

"We have yet to look at the footage," Amelia replied. "But for now…it seems like our best shot."

"As it's been mentioned more than once," the Doctor muttered.

_(The first time Clara Oswald had seen a mangled body was with John Smith. Of course, Clara had seen dead bodies before – in textbooks and newspaper clippings and in one case, her mother, when Clara was not even nineteen years old yet. But she had never seen an actual shredded, bleeding, torn-up body in person before. Clara rubbed her hands over her arms in discomfort and turned to look at John, who, to her surprise, didn't look even a bit shocked by the sight. Instead, he looked sad. His lips were turned down in a frown; his eyes were solemn. _

_"John?" Clara whispered, taking a few steps towards her partner. _

_The man turned to look at Clara. He gestured to the body, murmuring, "Look at that, Clara. Murder. Never neat. Never tidy. It's always messy; it's always leaving traces." Clara stared. Crossing her arms, Clara said quietly, "Did you know him?" She nodded to the disfigured body. John's head whipped around to look at Clara so fast, she thought she had said something wrong until the tips of his lips started up into a sadder smile. _

_"You don't have to know the person to feel sympathy, Clara," John replied simply. Clara pressed her hand to her lips and feeling heat crawl up her face, she said, "I didn't mean – that wasn't what I –"_

_"No, no, I understand," John reassured. His eyes turned back to the body. He shook his head and standing up, said, "It's days like these when this job disgusts me. Disturbs. Reminds me what's really out there; reminds me of the kind of people who live in this world." He let out a bitter laugh – a noise that seemed foreign to Clara. The woman blinked. "Then…why do you do it?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows. "Why would you do this sort of job if stuff like this makes you hate everything?" _

_John brushed his hands against his trousers. He looked down at Clara and with tight lips, he replied in a strained voice, "Same reason as you. Because if I didn't have this job, I suppose I'd run out of my mind with boredom.") _

"Duck," Jack said suddenly and before Clara could react, the woman felt something hit her face. Crying out in surprise, Clara stumbled backwards and felt something else hit her back. She cried out again, only to be spun around by the shoulders – and face the Doctor. Clara instantly cringed back, ignoring the look the Doctor shot her afterwards. She turned to look at Jack, already asking, "_What was _–"

She was cut off by a sudden gesture from Amelia. The Scot slowly pointed up and Clara followed the movement with her head. Instantly, she clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of a man dangling from a rope, his feet swinging slightly from the impact they had with Clara's face. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "So this was the next murder you all were talking about, yes?"

Martha nodded grimly. "From what we can tell, the victim was –"

"Stabbed to death, and then tied up. He was dead before he was put up here," the Doctor finished. He circled around the dangling body and shooting a glance at the bloodstains, he said, "What was the _point _of that, though? First, our friend murdered that woman. Now, we find that he had _also _murdered _him_. No connections found yet. No actual pattern found yet. Nothing at all." He narrowed his eyes at the body. "Think about it. It's almost as if he's…" His voice drifted. The Doctor looked back at the group.

"Almost as if he's what?" Jack asked, his own eyes travelling up to the victim.

The Doctor pressed his lips together. "Bragging. Messing up on purpose."

Amelia spoke up first. "But there wouldn't be any point in that, would there?" she asked. "This person's entire point is run away – to escape. Why would he want to…mess up and leave this kind of trail? Do you reckon he's trying to tell us something?" The Doctor shrugged his shoulder. "He might, he might not. Won't be sure until we look at the footage or the interrogations. Who knows, the answer might…present itself."

xXx

Clara shuffled through the pictures of the victims, chewing sub-consciously on her thumbnail. She closed her eyes briefly – tried to minimize whatever damage she had seen on the victims – and re-opened them again.

_(Clara found John sitting on the floor of his office, running his hands through his hair and his eyes wide open – too wide. It was an expression she had seen before, in all her time as his partner. She immediately pushed her folders and papers onto John's desk – closed the door behind herself – and rushed forward. "John," she whispered, slowly sitting down. "Hey. John." _

_The man's green-brown eyes gazed up at Clara. "Hello," he said weakly. "Have you come to scold me again?" _

_"I'm not going to scold you, John," Clara replied as gently as she could. She placed her hands over John's hands, murmuring, "I'm worried about you. Let's give it another rest for tonight, alright? You don't have to feel responsible for every time we mess up." John's eyes lowered back to the ground. "We couldn't get to the children on time, Clara," he said miserably. "They blew up. They exploded. I could have gotten to them faster – I could have sent a message to them before – I could have worked harder – I could have…I could have…I could have –"_

_"_No_," Clara said firmly, lifting a hand so it could rest on the back of John's neck. She rubbed his hair with her thumb, saying in a quieter tone, "There was nothing else we could do. I know how you feel about that – I hate it, too…" Her voice drifted. And she wasn't lying – she hated how she couldn't have been on time to save enough people, but what she hated more was to see her friend – John – in such a position. These events were coming faster and faster, and Clara wasn't sure if she could stop them all the time. _

_"John," Clara whispered. "Please. _Please_."_)

"Would you like me to tell you how much time you've wasted staring into space, or were you already somewhat aware?" a voice asked. Clara lifted her head abruptly to stare right into the Doctor's eyes. She flinched and asked, "Do you know how to knock?" The Doctor gave her a dry smile. "I tried it once – it never worked and it always bothered me. No one ever tried to answer the door within the proper amount of time." Clara only shook her head. "Of course," she murmured under her breath. She shifted the photos around and asked, "So. What can I help you with? Or are you just hear to bother me?"

"That's not exactly the attitude you should hold for your partner," the Doctor replied, sitting down in front of Clara's desk. Clara sighed and pushed her fingers up to her temples. "Just tell me why you're here," she said tiredly. The Doctor responded by placing a CD case on the desk. Clara lifted her head only slightly, asking, "What's this?"

"Feeling slow already?" the Doctor retorted. He tapped the CD case, replying, "_This _was the recording that I received today. Of the murders. I took a glimpse of it myself already, but I decided to watch the rest with you, just in case you had anything to share." Clara took the CD case and opening it, muttered, "I'll thank you for that." She slid her rolling chair over to her computer and slid open the DVD box. She gently placed the slim disk inside and pushing the DVD box to a close, Clara asked, "How much did you gather on your little time to yourself?"

"We're still unsure of who our murderer friend is," the Doctor responded instantly. "He was wearing concealing clothes. However, I managed to gather his height – and I noticed one certain thing about him." Clara turned to the computer, which was now starting up the security CD. "And that was…?" she asked, flicking a glance to the Doctor.

The Doctor pointed at the computer screen as the footage started. "He's walking with a limp. Notice the way he holds himself – how he favors his right leg over the left. He's putting more pressure on it, see?" he said. Clara's eyes scanned through the grainy film. Nodding slowly, she murmured, "Yeah…I think." On the screen, she could just barely make out the image of a tall figure – dressed in black (of course. Clara might have found it cliché, if not for the actual reasoning behind the clothes that everyone knew of.) – and just as the Doctor had said, he was obviously having a hard time with walking on both of his legs.

Quietly, Clara watched as the murderer dragged along a woman – the one who Clara and the Doctor had seen in the tunnel just a few hours ago – and hacked off her arm. Clara tried to push down the squeamish feelings that were starting to arise – concentrated on breathing deeply instead. She watched as the murderer, still swinging his long knife around, kicked at the poor woman. She was screaming. She was withering in agony, tears streaming down her face and legs flailing.

Clara stared with unblinking eyes as the murderer dug his knife into the woman's chest. And the murder wasn't exactly like it was in the movies, when the victim would suddenly go limp and have life drown out of his or her eyes. Instead, here, in this security tape, the murder was anything but. The woman was still screaming. She was gasping. She was watching as her own blood was drawn out of the knife. And then there was another stab – another – another – another – and even after the woman was long dead, the murderer _wouldn't stop. _

Hands trembling only slightly, Clara paused the video. She turned to look at the Doctor, whose eyes were still glued onto the screen. "Ms. Stanguard was stabbed fifteen times in the chest," he said in a low voice. "With an arm hacked off first." Clara swallowed down the bile that was working up her throat. "Have we found the body?" she asked, lowering her hands onto her lap.

The Doctor only nodded back at the screen. Clara tried to ignore the sinking sensation of her heart falling to her stomach as she turned back to the video. She let it play again – just in time to see that the murderer had heartlessly kicked the dead body to the side of the tunnel, to the deepest corner of the shadows and slime. Clara pushed her hand to cover her mouth and sighing deeply, she shook her head.

"Unappealing?" the Doctor asked into the quiet. Clara turned to look at him. She pressed her lips tight together and replied, "It's not wrong for me to find this as a disgusting reminder." The Doctor lifted both of his eyebrows. "And yet, you still have this job. When you applied, didn't you understand the consequences?" he asked. Clara took a few seconds to watch the Doctor. Then, gathering her thoughts, she asked, "Tell me – are you _trying _to get me annoyed, or are you just naturally tactless?"

"I would say that I'm a bit of both," the Doctor responded without even as much as a blink.

Clara closed her eyes. Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she spun her chair back around to resume the video. She watched as the murderer advanced to another poor soul – the man. Clara noticed the length of rope he was carrying; she noticed the construction outfit. "On the way to his own job, I'm deducing," the Doctor murmured. Clara didn't acknowledge the words.

_Run, _Clara thought as she stared at the man. _Run; go take another tunnel. Go to your family and tell them that you decided to not go to work, after all. Go. Go. _Go.

Clara watched as the murderer started to beat the man with the butt of his knife – and just as the person had done with the woman, the murderer stabbed the man once – twice – thrice…and then, when knowing the job was done, the murderer started to drag the man deeper into the tunnel. With quick movements, Clara watched as the murderer made a noose – and gradually hoisted the man up at the top of the tunnel.

"The murderer was wearing gloves," Clara whispered. "So I'm assuming that there weren't any finger prints." She turned to look at the Doctor. "Any other bits of evidence? Like…the kind of knife? Or the person who might have manufactured those weapons in the first place?"

"We'll be doing that tonight," the Doctor responded. "In the meantime, however…" He reached over, popping out the CD. He clasped it back into its case and lifted his eyes, asking, "What did you gather from this video?"

Clara started to shift through her photos again. Then, after taking another long breath, Clara replied, "This murderer _does _have a pattern. In his killings, at least."

"And that is?" the Doctor asked.

Clara gathered her files and standing up, she said grimly, "He has a knack for overkill."

xXx

"Tell me, Clara; how are you feeling?" Madame Vastra asked delicately, lifting her cup of tea. Clara watched the older woman with pressed lips. "Well," she said quietly, folding her hands over her lap. "You know. I'm better." Vastra looked genuinely pleased by that announcement. "Good, good," she said. "So, then. Your new partner? What do you think of him?"

Clara stared. Crossing her ankles a bit tighter than was necessary, Clara asked, "Would you mind me telling you my honest opinion?"

The Head of Partnerships smiled serenely. "Well, isn't that why I asked the question in the first place?" she replied. Clara bit down on her bottom lip. "As you say," she said simply. Clara let out a breath and said, "I find the Doctor as…an arrogant, cold fool." When Vastra didn't reply right away, Clara added, "It's been a fight for who has more control. Every little thing he _does _before me is like a signal that _he _feels as though he's in charge. He's tactless – he doesn't understand the way I think – he's…" _Not like John. _

"Your new partner and one of the most skilled workers we have under our belt," Vastra said, the pleasantness from her voice never once fading. Clara supposed she should appreciate that, but if anything, the brunette only found it more infuriating. Clara shook her head and muttered, "I don't understand him."

"But isn't that the point?" Vastra asked, lifting her eyebrows. "I know how to put people in pairs, Miss Oswald. I know which two are most compatible together, even if it doesn't prove to be easy at first." She laughed lightly – though not entirely kindly. "And of course, your first partner – he was…an interesting choice who I almost didn't want to pair you up with." Vastra's eyes lowered to Clara, who had stiffened at the mention of John him. "However, you two were compatible. Only it was…" Her nose wrinkled, though Clara couldn't tell if it was from distaste or simply regret. "Easy for you two to bring in that sense of partnership. And that…proved to be both of your undoing –"

_("How do you like your partner so far, Miss Oswald?" Madame Vastra asked Clara. The brunette lifted her head, accepting the cup of tea that the older woman offered. "He's alright," Clara replied with a casual shrug of her shoulders. "He's very…comfortable." Vastra smiled. "Well, that's certainly nice to hear," she said simply. "You don't feel…overwhelmed? I understand this is your first time ever –"_

_"No, no, no," Clara shook her head quickly. "John doesn't load too much work on me, and I'm making sure he's not doing everything by himself, either. It's a very nice partnership, so I suppose I should thank you for that." Vastra smiled serenely at those words. "Well, then, Miss Oswald. You are very welcome indeed. After all, I only aim to make sure you'll end any partnership happily.")_

Clara pushed her chair back, ignoring the painful scraping sound it made against the wooden floorboards. "I think we're done here," she said quietly. She reached for her coat, trying not to focus on the way Vastra's eyes seemed to bore through her head. "You're still clinging onto him, Clara," she murmured. "And how are you supposed to cooperate with the Doctor if you continue to do so?"

"This isn't about _John_," Clara snapped. _Liar._ And Vastra knew it as well as Clara did. _That still doesn't give her the right, _Clara thought bitterly. "This is about _me _being frustrated with a _prick_." She yanked at her coat and tugged it over herself, adding, "I'll be seeing you later. Just don't count on me sticking around if you mention…" She shook her head violently. "Just _stop_," she said harshly. "He has nothing to do with this."

"If you say so, Miss Oswald," Vastra only remarked.

"I do. I _do _say so." Clara muttered and pulled roughly at the door – only to come face-to-face to the Doctor. _Again_, she thought angrily to herself. His eyes flicked down at Clara for the briefest of seconds and then, without even acknowledging her presence afterwards, he called, "Madame Vastra. You called?"

"Yes, Doctor," Vastra replied. "Come sit – I need your help with something." Her eyes traveled to Clara and then, with a nod, she added, "And I'll be seeing you later, Miss Oswald."

Clara only nodded her head. She hurried out of the hallway.

* * *

**A/N - I know that some of you guys are bothered by the flashbacks - but I promise there'll be less and less as the chapters go on. For a good reason. *flashes a thumbs-up; fixes bowtie* Trust me. I'm the Doct - no, not that - I'm the *gasps* _Writer_. **

**Didn't work? Ah, well. I tried. **

**Reviews are always great! More positive reviews is equivalent to faster update time and more motivation! (Look at me. I'm the creature that feeds on positivity.) So...that being said, constructive criticism is tolerable, but flames are not. For obvious reasons. **


	4. Unable to Understand

**Guess who doesn't have school today because of the big snow day? Me! Also - guess who's going to be travelling tomorrow? Also me! *sighs* It's going to be one hell of a ride, but I'll see what writing I can do. XD **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

_Chapter Four. Unable to Understand_

Clara was in her bedroom, with her laptop pulled over her legs and eyes scratchy and dry-feeling from staring at a bright screen for so long.

_(Clara was unsure how to wake John when she walked into his office. She considered slamming the books she was carrying on the desk – or maybe shaking him – or setting off the alarm on her phone. But then, as she watched John continue to sleep on his desk, Clara felt her heart soften. He must have been busy last night. And so, gently placing her books on a chair, Clara lightly poked John's elbow. "Psst," she whispered, "John. Wake up. I need you to look at – whoa!" _

_She startled backwards as John's arms splayed out as he woke. "What – where – why –" His eyes frantically searched around the office until they landed on Clara. He let out an obvious breath of relief, saying, "What was _that _for?!" Clara took a few steps away from Joh and replied, "You were sleeping. And I couldn't find any other way to wake you up. Well, at least – not in any other gentler way." _

_John let out a long sigh. "Ah," he said, running his hands through his hair. "What time –" _

_"Nine AM." Clara replied. "How long have you been here?" _

_John grimaced. "Do you really want to know?" he asked. Clara shrugged her shoulders. "I might as know what kind of stuff my new partner does behind my back," she replied.) _

Clara didn't look away from her laptop until her phone dinged. Sighing and pushing one hand up to her hairline, Clara reached over and grabbed her phone. She lifted it to her ear and murmured, "Hello?"

"Miss Oswald, I thought you'd still be asleep," the Doctor said through the phone. Clara swallowed back a groan and rubbing her eyes, she replied, "Fortunately, Doctor, I'm still very much awake. I've been re-watching the security clips." She couldn't help but to shudder at her words as an afterthought. _She certainly wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. _"No rest for the wicked," the Doctor responded. Clara tightened her grip on her phone. With another sigh, she asked, "What do you want, Doctor? I really wouldn't like to be disturbed when I'm trying to think."

"I would like you to meet me tomorrow morning at my office with whatever notes you might have gathered," the Doctor said simply. "We need more time to collaborate rather than work as individuals, don't you think?" Clara rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Miss Oswald?" the Doctor asked. Clara puffed out a breath. "Yes, Doctor," she responded. "And for the hell of it, please just call me _Clara_. _Miss Oswald _makes you sound patronizing."

Clara hated how she could hear the way the Doctor's lip curl when he replied, "Maybe that's my intention."

"Well, change it," Clara snapped and hung up. She attached her phone to her character and ran through the security clips again. Then, she pulled out the other files saved on her laptop, hoping to re-find the file of the runaway mole's description. Sucking in a breath, she clicked _resume _on the clips.

xXx

"I don't think the murderer was the mole," Clara said the second she was in the Doctor's office. He looked up from his papers, eyebrows lifted in questioning. "And you say that because…?" he asked, his voice drifting. Clara pointed at a photo of the mole – a man with a pleasant face and gleeful eyes and pale skin – and then pointed at the screenshot she had taken of the murderer.

"Christopher Nelson – our mole – is five foot ten. The murderer is also five foot ten. However, Christopher didn't have a limp – and he never has. Our reports say that we couldn't get a shot on him or anything else of the sort. Our murderer here, funnily enough, _does _have one. Now, unless Christopher could have somehow developed a faint limp within the last ten hours after he had escaped, I don't believe the murderer could have been the one we were looking for," Clara said simply. "It was a detail that we missed. Kind of embarrassing that we _did _overlook it, but it's amazing how much you can accomplish in a few hours without sleep." She crossed her arms, feeling somewhat triumphant. "So. That's what I've got to share."

The Doctor's eyes slowly travelled up and down Clara, his lips lifting at the tips. "Very good, Miss Oswald –"

"Clara," the brunette automatically corrected. "I just proved something to you. I think I deserve a bit more respect than just looking down on me like that."

"Clara," the Doctor nodded his head. "Fine. I'll give you this – your idea was well-thought out, but…" He pressed his lips together. "Not enough." He shoved a few photos and papers towards Clara. "_This_," he said, tapping the photo, "is the kind of knife that the murderer used." Clara looked down at the image – observed the long, sharp curve of the blade and the leather grip. It didn't _seem _like much, but Clara knew that she had seen that knife before – though not in the action.

"It's a knife from our own supply," Clara and the Doctor said in unison. Clara's eyes broadened and she looked back down at the image. "But that's impossible," she said quietly. "You're not able to get that knife unless you put in your thumbprint – and then your breath – and then your face and –"

"Unless the murderer really was the mole," the Doctor finished. "So you're first guess – that the murders were made by him – was correct, Miss – Clara." Clara slowly sat down in her chair, rubbing her temples. "So." She muttered. "The only thing we've actually, properly found out would be…"

"That the murderer is, without a doubt, the mole who escaped." The Doctor finished. Clara bit down her frustration. Another night wasted – on frightening security clips and her eyes. Clara only rubbed at them and let out a sigh. "Fine," she said at last. "Right. We'll have to start from square one."

"Square one is better than an invisible square two," the Doctor replied pointedly.

_("No, that's okay. That's okay. Clara, it's _fine_," John said, patting Clara's shoulder gently. "Let's just try again. It's fine if you screwed up the first time. This is still just practice." Clara let herself fall back into her desk seat, saying, "I thought I had it, though! Just a few more seconds, and I could have brought that computer-programmed-hacker to justice!" John smiled. "I'm sure you would have, Clara." He re-started the program, adding, "But again, this is just practice." _

_"But one day, it _won't _just be practice," Clara pointed out. _

_John nodded. "That's true," he said quietly. "That's very true." He pulled away from Clara and leaning against the wall, he said, "So you better make sure you practice hard enough so that when the real time comes around, you'll be ready to beat the pants off of that computer hacker and anything or anyone else.")_

"Don't pretend that you're more at ease about this than me," Clara said. She started to pull together her papers when the Doctor said, "Don't think you're going anywhere that soon. We have yet to watch those interrogation clips." Clara let her hands drop. She gripped the edge of the desk and swallowing, she replied, "Fine. Get the video. I'll be waiting here."

xXx

_"Do you know anything about where Christopher Nelson went?" _Clara watched one of the interrogators – a man named Strax – ask. The technician in questioning tugged at his hands, obviously taking his time to answer. Clara supposed that was only natural, especially since he had just been caught in helping someone run away from the service. _"No," _the technician replied. _"He just told me he wanted me to help him delete his tracks and…" _

_"And?" _Strax asked. _"You're wasting precious time, boy." _

The technician swallowed. _"Well, he wanted me to work with the voice modulators. Tamper with them – he said he was waiting for a message from his office." _Clara turned her head to look at the Doctor, eyebrows already lifted. "We'll be looking into that later," the Doctor replied instantly. Clara nodded and turned back to the video, in which Strax was asking, _"Was there anyone else involved?" _

_"A few other technicians, I think," _the man replied, wiping the sweat from his brow. _"But it was mostly pretty quiet. I don't think Nelson did that on purpose." _Strax's voice was flat as he replied, "_Very well, you're doing good with that." _He consulted his notes and continued, _"Have you any idea what – or who – the voice modulator was for?" _

_"No clue; Nelson wouldn't say," _the technician replied. His eyes flicked around the room – and slowly, it made its way to the camera. _"Can I – can I leave now?" _

_"But of course," _Strax replied almost cheerfully, "_but first, you'll most definitely have your occupation and certain memories stripped away of this place before leaving for ever assisting a mole in escape. You probably won't remember a single thing about what happened to you in the last five years you've been working with us, and you will be dropped off to your original home, where you will live out your days completely ignorant. That is all!" _ As the technician started to stammer a plea, the Doctor reached over and stopped the video. Clara slowly turned to him. "Voice modulators?" she only asked.

"Instruments that adjust the tone and sound of your voice – they make you sound lower or higher and leave certain sounds in to make it hard to find the actual voice –" the Doctor started to explain, but was cut off by a swift shake of Clara's head. "I know what a voice modulator _is_," she said, forcing herself to sound patient. "But we have to find out what it was exactly _for_." She pushed herself away from her desk, adding, "Come off it – why would Christopher Nelson want voice modulators? The technician said he was waiting for a message, but I would think that the person with the actual message would need the modulator, not the other way around." She paced around the room, her mind racing. She looked over at the Doctor and snapping her fingers, said, "But what if the two already _knew _each other? Maybe Nelson had to cover up for the person who was sending the message to him – they might be associates!" Growing excited, she continued, "And that should narrow down suspects, yeah? We can look at the people who he might have been in contact with…" Her voice drifted as the Doctor sat back, a long sigh escaping from his lips.

Clara stopped short. "What's that look for?"

The Doctor looked up. "What look?" he asked.

Clara frowned. Slowly crossing her arms over her chest, she replied, "You've got this _look _– your eyebrows go all funny, and you watch me as if you're…" She scowled. "Are you mocking me?"

"Not mocking – _criticizing_," the Doctor responded, standing up. "Listen, Miss Osw – Clara. You might have a good lead – a good idea – but we've got to look at the other concepts." Voice dry, he said, "Maybe the two haven't met each other at all. Maybe Nelson was putting his faith in someone without any knowledge of his partner. Maybe that was why he needed the voice modulator – so he could disguise _himself_." He smiled humorlessly. "Both are so untrustworthy that they need to disguise their own voices as insurance for themselves."

Clara stared. Unwilling for her idea to be deemed unworthy, she said slowly, "Fine. If that's what _you _think. But your idea might be just as invalid as you say mine is. We still have some more looking around to do."

"So be it." The Doctor said shortly. He stood up and gathering his papers, he said, "There'll be another interrogation in half an hour – room fourteen. We'll meet there and see if we can…gather whatever info we can to prove a different theory." Clara pressed her lips together. Sitting back down at her desk, she repeated tightly, "Fine. Half an hour, it is."

xXx

_("You're late," Clara hissed as John sprinted into the room. He grimaced in response, whispering, "Sorry. I got held up. What did I miss?" Looking back at the glass, Clara replied shortly, "Nothing. Nothing at all." John's face split into a wide grin, obviously pleased with himself by the arrangement. Then, a heartbeat later, his smile faded and he asked, "Then why so huffy?" _

_"Twenty minutes. You said we were supposed to get down to the interrogation room in _twenty _minutes. I came down here in fifteen, and you came down here in thirty." Clara muttered. John stared. The brunette took one second – two seconds – three seconds for the stare to settle in and then, not taking it any longer, she said, "Stop _looking _at me like that. We're supposed to be punctual!" _

_John only let out a soft laugh. "Oh, Clara," he said, shaking his head. "I think you're going to be good for me." That was all he said for the rest of the interrogation-watch.) _

Even though the Doctor had said that the interrogation was to start in thirty minutes, Clara was down in twenty-five. However, when she swung open the door, she found that the Doctor was already seated on the other side of the glass, his hands folded neatly over his lap and his eyes staring straight into the empty interrogation room. The Doctor flicked a glance at Clara when she walked in. Clearing her throat, the brunette closed the door behind herself and asked, "When did you get here?"

"What time is it?" the Doctor only asked.

Clara looked up at the clock. "It's eleven thirty," she replied. The Doctor rolled his shoulders and re-adjusting himself at his seat, he said, "I've been here since eleven eighteen," he said. Clara let her hands fall to her hips. "So you decided to come early," she said, walking over to her own seat.

"What, do you need to control _that _as well?" her partner asked.

Clara whipped her head around to look at the Doctor. "_No_," she replied furiously. "And don't say that sort of stuff about me." The Doctor slowly turned to Clara. "I'll only say what's true," he said. Clara resisted the urge to punch him – to give him a swift, nice _smack _on the arm to get him to stop talking. Instead, she retorted, "Fine. Then I'll speak the truth, too. Would you like me to tell you about yourself, since you seem so eager on telling _me _about myself?" Without waiting for an answer, she stuck out a hand and fumed off each finger, hissing, "_Egomaniac. Annoying. Bossy. Arrogant. Supercilious._"

"Now, that's a big word," the Doctor remarked. "Did you look it up on the way here just to show off your vocabulary?" Clara bit down on her bottom lip and leaning close, said, "You are acting like a _complete_ –"

She was interrupted by a sudden swing of the door. Both Clara and the Doctor turned around to look at Strax, who had taken up to unusual silence. The short man's eyes wandered from Clara to the Doctor – then back to Clara, and then slid over to the Doctor again. "Ah," he only said. But then, snapping into attention, Strax added, "Miss Clara, Doctor. The interrogation is about to start. Judging by the loud voices as I was passing by this door, I figured you would need a reminder that we are interrogating one of the technicians, not each other." He flicked a glance at the two again and added, "Unless you would like for me to make a formal arrangement, in which I would personally –"

"_No_, Strax." Clara and the Doctor said in unison. Feeling another flare of indignance, Clara shot a look at the Doctor and added through gritted teeth, "But you're right, Strax. We really _should _quiet down. Start the interrogation. There won't be any trouble."

Strax nodded. He turned to the Doctor for confirmation, who only waved his hand. "Yes, yes," he said in a low voice, his own eyes transfixed on Clara's. "Listen to her." Then, in a softer tone, he added, "After all, that's what she only wants." Clara bristled, though simply said, "Right. Strax, take it away, yeah?"

xXx

"Well, _that _was an absolute waste of time," Clara muttered as the technician was forced out of the interrogation room. The Doctor rubbed a hand over his forehead, replying, "As we can all quite obviously observe." Clara stood up and packing her bag, she said, "That comment wasn't needed or necessary."

"Thank you for your input," the Doctor responded. The sarcasm in his voice, needless to say, was palpable and it crawled down Clara's dress and wound itself around her legs. She had been starting to open the door – although at that comment, she slammed it and whirled around to look at the Doctor, who was still packing his things. Dropping her bag on the floor, Clara stormed over to the Doctor and planting her hands on the small table that they had for taking notes, Clara said, "Right. Listen. To. Me. Now."

The Doctor looked up, eyebrows lifted. "Oh, good," he said. "Am I going to get another Clara talk again?"

"_That _was exactly what I was going to talk about," Clara shot back. She sucked in a deep breath and said, "We've been working with each other for only a short amount of days, right?" The Doctor nodded his head, his expression unchanging. Clara nodded back. "And yet, we haven't gotten anywhere. No communication. No speaking. No actual _work _getting done because _you _always go back to your _own _office and _I _go back to mine. No partnership here." She waved her hand in the space between the Doctor and herself. "And while I really _would _like to do all the work by myself, we still need to do _something _together."

"I sense an offer coming up," the Doctor said. Clara pushed her hands up to her forehead. "I don't deny it," she replied. "So that's why I'm telling you that _we need to actually work together_. And God help us, if that means _not making any stupid comments about_ my…my…"

"Control-freak instinct?" the Doctor supplied. Clara glared but through pressed lips, she bit out, "Yeah. _That_, or whatever you want to call it. My _control-freak instinct _and you're mania of patronization." She jabbed a finger in the Doctor's direction. "So if that means not making stupid comments or arguments to each other about personal preferences, then so be it. We have to try to _float _together, rather than try to get each other to drown." Clara pushed herself away from the table.

"Is that it?" the Doctor asked, looking up at Clara. The brunette sighed heavily through her nose and with a sense of finality, she nodded. "That's it," she replied. She leaned down and grabbed her bag. "I'll give you your lunch break to think that over –"

"I disagree."

Clara stopped short. "What?" she asked, annoyance already flickering underneath her voice.

The corner of the Doctor's lips twitched into a smile. "You said that we'll have to work together from now on," he said. "And that means some more…time, don't you think?" He stood up and slinging his bag over one of his shoulders, he added, "Lunch. Either your office or mine or at a different place, I don't care. Let's see if your plan for cooperation works, Clara." With that, he headed out of the room.

Clara stared. She adjusted her grip on her bag and looked back at the seat where the Doctor had just been. Slowly, everything dawned to her – the Doctor had just left. They were going to do…something. Work. Actual work.

"Oi! Wait up!" Clara hollered, sprinting out of the room.

* * *

**A/N - Clara and the Doctor's relationship are still developing, obviously, because I think it'd be weird if they instantly hit off. (Plus, I'm a sucker for really bumpy/rocky relationship starts. Don't look at me.) **

**Did anyone else see the Season 9 filming pics? Is anyone else totally psyched out about what Moffat said about taking Twelve in "a different direction"? (According to Moff, Peter Capaldi has been latching onto the idea of hugging everyone. Hee hee. I kind of want a pocket Twelve right now. Please. That'd be nice.) **

**Reviews are always great; if you can take two seconds to favorite/follow the story, you can take two more seconds to type down a few words. Constructive criticism is tolerable, but flames are not!**


	5. Hidden Anguish and Hidden Guilt

**Help me. I'm obsessed with Anna Akana. And I didn't know she was in ****_The Fosters _****until after I became obsessed with her videos. (Yes, this is totally what I've been doing instead of writing or doing anything productive. Oopsie. Oh, _and _she's a Whovian! And a Potterhead! And a _Star Wars _fan!)**

**Enjoy! **

* * *

_Chapter Five. Hidden Anguish and Hidden Guilt _

"This is ridiculous."

"Why?"

"Because you and I are having lunch."

"It's a fairly normal thing to do between co-workers."

"If you say so," Clara remarked, crossing her arms. She stared down at the sandwich sitting in front of her and after a moment of silence, she leaned over to take it. She pretended that the Doctor wasn't on the other side of the small table – that he was looking perfectly calm in the face of normalcy. (Ha. That was one, big, fucking ha that Clara was never aware of.)

To the regular eye, Clara and the Doctor probably _did _look normal. Clara couldn't see any of her other workers around the deli. Everyone looked completely dim and gloomy-eyed, sipping on cups of coffee or halfheartedly taking bites out of lunch. The atmosphere, if anything, was sleepy and unexciting, which stood out much more to Clara than it should have. Only the waitresses and waiters looked a bit more than half-alive, but Clara supposed that if one was supposed to constantly work serving people with various attitudes, one would have to keep a cheerful face on.

"Tell me about yourself, then," the Doctor said, lifting his head from his lunch. Clara paused, mid-chew. "I'm sorry?" she then asked, swallowing hard. The Doctor folded his hands on the table. "I don't know a single thing about you except you're bossy, a control freak with a big ego –" (_"what?" _Clara started) "And that I'm your second partner." The Doctor smiled dryly. "There's got to be more than just that."

"Then what about you?" Clara replied, letting her sandwich fall to the plate. "I don't know much about where you came from, either. Scotland, I'm assuming – and I'm only judging by your accent."

"Glasgow." The Doctor supplied. "Then you?"

"Blackpool."

"Ah. I assumed by the accent as well."

Clara nodded her head simply. Fingering the corner of the table, she said blandly, "I'll give you the basics. Just a bit. I'm an only child – only got a dad and a stepmother. I went to public schools, like many other people. I am twenty-eight years old and this was actually one of my first jobs." She looked over at the Doctor. "And that's all I'm willing to share for a first meeting," she finished. The Doctor's expression hadn't changed at all. Clara let out a soft sigh and said, "So now, this is where _you _tell me about yourself."

The Doctor didn't blink even once as he replied, "Unlike you, this wasn't one of my first jobs. I used to travel instead. And after that, I became a professor at a college to teach biology." At that, Clara couldn't help but to try to imagine the man sitting in front of her as a professor – perhaps a bit younger, with less grey hair but still with the same, stern look on his face. Clara quickly shoved the thought away. "Any favorite students?" she asked lightly.

"Yes, actually. Some were exceptionally bright, though God knows where they are now." The Doctor replied. Clara managed to give him a quizzical smile. "Ah," she said humorlessly. "There it is. Your attitude, even regarding the students you used to teach." The Doctor tilted his head only slightly. "I've taught thousands and thousands of students a lifetime ago," he replied. "Some students may not stay in touch."

Clara shook her head. "Never mind," she murmured. Crossing one leg over the other, she asked, "What else is there? After quitting your job as a professor –"

"I didn't quit."

"Hm?"

The Doctor's voice was stiff as he repeated, "I didn't quit. I was pulled out." Clara frowned. "Really?" she asked. "How did that happen?" The Doctor pushed his plate aside. "You have your obvious secrets, Clara," he replied in an unusually soft voice. "And I have mine. I understand that as long as I don't pry, you won't, either." At that, Clara couldn't help but to feel a small twinge at her heart as the Doctor's entire face seemed to grow weary. For a half-second, the Doctor's eyes seemed to go into a trance – as though he was in deep thought – but then, he pulled away and added a bit louder, "But."

"But," Clara said quietly.

"But that's all." The Doctor replied. He dragged his knuckles against the wood of the table and asked, "I don't suppose you have anything else to say about your own past?" Clara felt the space in her throat tighten. She managed to reply, "No. I think I told you everything you needed to know."

_("What about you?" Clara asked, sitting on John's desk, ignoring his protest. "Don't you have anything to share?" _

_John looked up at Clara. With a sigh, he asked, "If I told you, will you promise not to laugh?" _

_Clara shrugged her shoulders. Pursing his lips, John responded, "I used to go through a bunch of phases in school. I wore bowties –" Clara pointed at the ever-present bowtie sitting at John's collar. "That hasn't changed," she said simply. John gently pushed Clara's hand away and replied, "I'm _serious_. Amy and Rory – you know those two – we all went to the same university. We'd get into all sorts of crazy things. On one Halloween, we were all convinced that statues were moving around us. And that there were monsters lurking around in every corner." _

_The brunette's lips started to twitch at the corners. "_No_," she said, shaking her head. "You?" _

_John pouted. "The buildings were always really ancient-looking and spooky!" he defended instantly. "If you were in the same place, you'd be seeing ghosts and monsters and shadows everywhere, too!" Clara couldn't help herself – she laughed. She hopped off the desk and added, "I think you're still chasing those monsters, though, John." The man stared. "Why'd you say that?" he asked, puzzled. _

_Clara pointed at the pictures of deformed bodies and twisted parts floating around John's computer. "I think," she said softly, "this counts as something about chasing monsters. Same goes for Amy and Rory." John's face slackened, all humor draining away. "I suppose so," he agreed softly. He turned to the computer screen. "I guess you can say that.") _

"Do you like this job?" Clara asked suddenly. The Doctor lifted his elbows onto the table. "By _like_, you mean to say _enjoy _or –"

"I mean, do you find this job suitable? Do you find it enlightening somehow?" Clara asked. "Or do you just find it exciting?" The Doctor's eyebrows crept upwards. "Are we looking for some sort of psychological questionnaire now?" he asked. Clara made a face, replying, "You said you were the one who wanted to get some conversation and cooperation going. We might as well discuss why we're both here."

The Doctor looked almost amused by Clara's words. But still, he replied, "I find it an easy route to find what society and civilization doesn't say. You understand – how everyone pats normal citizens' heads, give them lollipops and say, 'Toddle along now. Everything is going to be fine. Yes, you're safe. You're very safe. There's nothing wrong here.'" The Doctor's lips curled into a smile – though there wasn't much warmth in it. "It's much more interesting to find out what people have been hiding – and what people do to stop anything from actually happening. I find some enjoyment in that. Chasing away whatever people are so afraid of – that's what I get from this job."

_Chasing away whatever people are so afraid of. _

_Yes. _

But Clara wouldn't let her agreement known, especially when the Doctor asked, "Do _you _find anything in this job enjoyable? Do you want me to ask _you _that?"

Clara found her lips forming the words, "The job is exciting. I can always use that in my life."

xXx

Work was an extreme case of who-was-doing-what and weaponry and papers being thrown around in the Doctor's office. In the short time Clara had been in the Doctor's office, there were already more photographs being tacked onto the walls – with red tape pointing at which victim belonged to who – more red tape leading to papers of possible theories, technician reports, interrogation dialogues…

The most confusing thing about the work process was that the Doctor and Clara hadn't even said a word. The Doctor or Clara would occasionally lift a paper – draw a diagram to demonstrate their idea – and if it was any good, they'd put it up. If it wasn't, they'd throw it into the _Need More Research _pile.

Clara also found that the Doctor actually had some good ideas. He was, to Clara's only small annoyance, a faster thinker and thought more critically and analytically than Clara had figured. Or at least, he leaned more towards a side that Clara wasn't ever interested in. A side that John used to enjoy dwelling in. He was more interested in the sciences and technology behind the murders – on how the murderer might have been able to cover his tracks so delicately while all the same, proved to be an absolute, devouring monster when it came to his killings. Clara, on the other hand, felt more motivated to look into the composition of the murder – at his fighting techniques and how he got his hands on such weaponry without being suspected or caught once. Someone must have seen him sneak out at least once – but all the same, he wasn't looked at by his co-workers.

It wasn't until Clara spotted Nelson's phonebook sitting at the corner of the room did she actually speak. "Why is that over here?" she asked, pointing at the thin, leather-bound book. The Doctor looked over from the wall he had been staring at. There was a brief silence and then, clearing his throat almost awkwardly, he said, "I asked if I could have it. I considered your theory about Nelson using a voice modulator to cover up one of his associates." He gestured to the book. "Your idea may have certain flaws, Miss – Clara. But I figured that you might want to look into it. You're welcome to delve into the contents if you like." Without another word, he turned back to the wall.

Clara stared, confused. All the same, she walked over to the corner and slowly picked it up.

She didn't say any words in thanks.

xXx

"Wake up," the Doctor said, nudging Clara with a pen. The brunette instantly lifted her head from her arms – and adjusting her eyes to the bright office lights, she asked, "What time is it?"

"Midnight," the Doctor responded. He glanced over to the clock on the wall and replied, "Thought, if you want to be more specific, it's eleven fifty-eight." Clara sucked in a breath and stretching out her arms, she asked, "Then how long was I sleeping?" The Doctor glanced up at the clock again. "About an hour," he replied. Clara stared. "Really?" she asked, standing up. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because we've been working on the same thing for nearly twelve hours and we've only made a little bit of progress." He said. Clara frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked tiredly. "I don't see – any progress –" she pushed some papers out of the way, adding, "Please, if you see _anything _here that's supposed to be good, I would like it if you would _tell _–"

"I looked into the phonebook again while you were sleeping – you called more than half of the people here, yes?" the Doctor asked. Clara ran a hand over her forehead. "Yes," she answered. "They were all family members or neighbors for emergency contacts." The Doctor nodded. He lifted the phonebook and tapped a single number – Clara's eyes scanned the page, only to frown in realization.

"There's no name here," she said slowly. She turned to the Doctor, pressing her lips together in concentration. "All of the other contacts had names – references to who they were before calling. But this one doesn't." The Doctor nodded once. "It's not much of a lead at all," he murmured. "I can already count all the reasons why this _couldn't _be what we're looking for."

Clara ripped the page out of the phonebook and tacking it to the wall, she said pointedly, "An invisible square two is better than no square at all."

xXx

The two agreed to call the mystery number tomorrow, in which the person behind it would most definitely answer.

So Clara and the Doctor departed in their separate ways without looking back.

xXx

Clara couldn't fall asleep, even despite the short nap that she had taken in the Doctor's office. She spent her time padding around her flat, her long robe swinging around her ankles. She considered turning on music – or watching a movie to get her to fall asleep, but quickly dismissed the idea. She wasn't sure how it was going to help her in her own case.

_("_Stop_," Clara laughed as John twirled her around. "No, really – we're going to break something!" John swooped her up in his arms and planting a soft kiss on her forehead, he whispered, "We won't. Trust me." Clara stared up at him. "You have stop saying that," she murmured breathily. John smiled. "What, that we won't break anything?" he asked. Clara slowly lifted her hands up to John's chest – let them travel to his shoulders. Breathing in, she replied, "That you're not going to drop me. That everything is going to be fine." _

_John's voice was firm when he responded, "Clara Oswald, I promise you that I won't drop you. I won't let anything break." With a smile, he said, "Now, come on – there's a song playing. Two in the morning. Let's see what we can do.") _

Clara walked back to her bed.

xXx

"This is Missy Saxon," a voice said from the other side of the phone. "How may I be of assistance?"

Clara and the Doctor exchanged looks before Clara said, "This is Clara Oswald. I just need to ask some questions."

There were some shuffles from the other end and then, after a few minutes, the woman said, "Ah, yes! Miss Oswald! I figured you might be calling." Clara looked back up at the Doctor, whose eyes widened and face was filled with questioning. Clara shrugged her shoulders and asked, "How did you –"

"Would you and your companion like to swing by later this afternoon? I'll send my address through text message. Would you like that?" Clara ran her knuckle over her lower lip. The Doctor nodded his head and clearing her throat, Clara replied, "That sounds just fine. We'll await your message." With that, she turned off the phone and turned to the Doctor wordlessly.

"Could be a trap," he said.

"Always happened in crime shows," she agreed quietly.

"We're still going."

xXx

The drive to Missy Saxon's address was quiet and uneventful. It wasn't even until both the Doctor and Clara were standing at the porch did either of them speak. "How do you think she figured out who we were?" Clara whispered, her finger hovering above the doorbell. "If she happens to be an associate of Christopher Nelson's, then maybe he gave her a warning," the Doctor replied. Clara let out a breath. Wringing her hands together, she muttered, "But it's still worth a shot."

With that, she let her finger press the doorbell – and instantly found herself standing face-to-face to an older, but bright-eyed woman. With dark hair set up in an elaborate looking up-do and purple hat sitting atop her head, Clara couldn't really see any signs of a cold-blooded or cold-hearted killer. Rather, maybe one of those eccentric candy-sellers in the shops that Clara used to visit as a child. Or maybe a _Mary Poppins _sort of nanny. Clara certainly got that vibe when Missy beamed at the Doctor and her. "Come in, come in," she said brightly, gesturing with an arm.

Clara pushed inside – and let her eyes wander to around the house. The walls were decorated in a shade of cream and blue, decorated with flecks of silver and gold paint, which, if Clara hadn't been so nervous already, would have been nice-looking. Missy was spinning around in the kitchen, her bright purple dress flying around her ankles – Clara could hear her humming a song under her breath. "Don't let yourselves just stand in there!" Missy called. "Why don't you two sit down – the sitting room is right there. That's it – oh, you can take off your coats as well – go on! It's been _such _a long time since I've had company."

Clara wordlessly shrugged off her jacket and hung it at the hangers that stood in the parlor. She watched the Doctor do the same and the two exchanging uneasy looks again, they walked into the sitting room. Clara sat herself down into one of the overstuffed armchairs – while the Doctor sat down on the couch, his entire body stiff and eyes questioning.

Clara couldn't help but to feel anxious as well, though, like the Doctor, she kept her face as clear as she possibly could, especially when Missy came swooping into the room. "Tea, love?" the woman asked the Doctor and Clara, lifting a teacup from the tray she had carried in. The Doctor shook his head – Clara only barely nodded her head, saying quietly, "Thank you."

Missy smiled again and handed it over to Clara. She took it – and quietly took a sip through tightly pressed lips. She slowly placed the cup back on the saucer and gently pushing it onto the table, she heard the Doctor say, "As I'm sure you've heard Miss Oswald say on the phone, we have –"

"A few questions to ask me, yes, I'm well aware." Missy replied, her pleasant expression never leaving her face. She crossed her ankles and nodding at the tea tray, she said, "So I wasn't too afraid to set up a calm atmosphere for ourselves." Her eyes flicked from the Doctor to Clara and then, in a softer voice, she said, "I've heard _plenty _of you two. The Doctor and Clara Oswald – famous spies and workers for a secret service with so many dangerous adventures and tales to tell. My, my, my…I was almost _stunned _to hear from Nelson that you two were made partners. He didn't think too much of it – but he _was _just as surprised as I was. Hm."

"So you're associated with Christopher Nelson?" Clara asked slowly.

Missy waved her hand carelessly. "He's one of my neighbors," she replied. "He borrows sugar sometimes, though he hasn't been doing that too often these days." She sat back against her armchair and asked, "So, is there something you two would actually like to ask me? Anything I can help with?"

The Doctor was the one who spoke. "You already answered one of our first questions," he replied. "You know of Christopher Nelson – you know of –"

"His occupation, yes. Poor dear, he's not too good at keeping secrets." Missy clucked her tongue. With a sly wink at the Doctor, she added, "But don't worry, I didn't tell anyone." Clara watched as the Doctor seemed taken aback by the response – and then, clearing his throat, he replied, "We've been searching for him. We found your phone number in his phonebook and came across the realization that your number was the only one that wasn't labeled – and now, we're here –"

"Hoping for some answers," Missy finished. "Ah, yes." She stood up and pouring herself a cup of tea, she added, "But I'm afraid this is all new to me, my dear Doctor." She looked up – this time, at Clara. "_But _I won't lie that Christopher and I are in good graces, and that that might be a good thing to use."

"How do you mean?" the Doctor asked.

Missy smiled. "I have a gala coming up," she said. "And I have it in my knowledge that Christopher might make an appearance, even if he is in hiding or not. You two are most certainly welcome to join – and if you are to spot him, you may arrest him in peace." Eyes glittering, Missy finished quietly, "I'm afraid I won't have Christopher Nelson lingering around my presence with such manners. It's too much, you understand."

xXx

Clara and the Doctor didn't have anything to say on the ride back home.

* * *

**A/N - Because again, I don't want the Doctor and Clara to be getting down each other's throats all the time. It'd be cool if they actually _tried _to tolerate each other. (But then...I'm probably not going to make it easy for them. Because like any other person in this world, I have a senseless need to make conflict for my favorite characters. And I like to torture them a little. *shifty eyes*) **

**Reviews are always great! Constructive criticism is tolerable, but flames are not!**


	6. Drove Them to Anger

**I may or may not be obsessed with ****_Agents of Shield. _****Because I am. So awfully am. I'm on the second to last episode of the first season and I'm officially dead. Dear gawd. But I managed to finish this chapter last night - but just didn't bother posting it until now because I have ****_so much stuff to get done. _****(Again, my fault for letting ****_AOS _****get the best of me. *sighs* BUT IT'S SO GOOD.) **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

_Chapter Six. Drove Them to Anger_

Clara was relieved when the weekend came. The minute she was inside her precious flat, she flopped down on the couch and didn't move for an entire twenty minutes. She managed to take a quick nap – though it was extremely uncomfortable, especially when severed limbs and glittering eyes chasing her around with guns and knives. (At least, that seemed much scarier in Clara's head.)

She spent the rest of the evening ordering Italian food and watching boring wildlife documentaries from the television. For a few brief moments, she spun up a documentary of her own in her head – _And here, we have the Doctor, lurking in the shadows of his office and coming out only for prey. _Clara almost laughed at that.

xXx

The sound of her phone ringing didn't register in Clara's ears. Head pounding with a headache and dragging up her blanket closer to herself, Clara accepted the call and barely managed to whisper, "Hello?" Instantly, she heard the Doctor say loudly, "_Clara! _Good morning. Are you up?" Clara barely resisted the urge to groan. Instead, she threw herself back against her pillows and replied, "I am _now_." If the Doctor sensed Clara's discomfort, it didn't show in his voice. "Did you receive the email I sent you? Missy sent along the information to me last night."

Clara pushed her hand up to her forehead and responded, "Doctor. It's –" She turned to look at the clock. With a sigh, she finished, "It's six thirty on a Saturday morning and I just woke up. I'm sorry if I didn't have time to check my email right away." There was a shift from the other side of the line and then, the Doctor asked, "Is it really six thirty? I never bothered with the time."

"Never mind," Clara murmured. "I'll check your email – I'll call you back later." Without waiting for the Doctor to respond, the brunette hung up the phone. She pushed her phone back to the nightstand and lifted her blankets back over her head.

_("Good morning," Clara heard John whisper in her ear. The brunette let out a soft sigh and turned around on her side. "Good morning," she replied, eyes fluttering open. She gave John a small smile as his green-brown eyes made contact with hers. Wrapping an arm around Clara's shoulders, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Clara hummed softly under her breath and asked, "What time is it?" _

_"Eight thirty," John responded. "But it's Saturday. Sleep in?" _

_Clara grinned. Stretching her arms, she murmured, "That sounds good.")_

After tossing and turning in her bed, shifting into multiple positions, and just _trying _to fall asleep, Clara finally kicked away her blankets. _This is all your fault, Doctor, _Clara thought sourly to herself. She padded into the kitchen and started to sort through the pantry. Breakfast. At six forty on a Saturday morning. This wasn't usually how Clara's typical Saturdays go, but for today, it would have to do.

xXx

After eating breakfast and taking a shower, Clara did what the Doctor had instructed. She flipped open her laptop and started to scan through her email. (Looking back, Clara figured it would have been easier for the Doctor to simply tell her what the news was. Or maybe he was just busy.) She found the email at last – and came to some startlingly bright wallpaper for it in the background. "_You're Invited – come at eight o'clock PM of _–" Clara stopped abruptly when she read the date. "_Today_." She finished, pushing herself away from the desk.

Clara looked at the clock. Seven twenty.

Picking up her phone, Clara dialed the Doctor's number. He picked up on the first ring, asking, "I'm assuming you read it?" Clara glared at the email on her laptop screen. "I did," she replied coolly. "When did you get this? I see that you only forwarded it early this morning." _At three thirty AM, _Clara thought to herself. _Does this man _ever _sleep? _

Clara could hear a dry laugh escape from the Doctor. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes – but then, remembering that the Doctor couldn't see her, indeed let her eyes roll. "I'm glad you find this amusing," she said icily. "When exactly did you get the invitation? Or, let me re-phrase that – when did Missy email you?"

"Last night."

Clara scowled. "And you couldn't send it to me then?"

"I was looking it over first."

_Damn you. _"We're partners. Because we're partners, we have to share whatever knowledge we've gathered."

"And invitations count?" the Doctor's voice was unimpressed. Clara pressed her lips together. "_Yes_, Doctor. If it has something to do with the case at hand, then of _course _we'll have to share that knowledge." She responded icily. Clara could almost see the Doctor rolling his eyes as he said, "If you wish. Either way, we'll need to meet beforehand. Would you like me to –"

Clara looked around her flat. For a sickening moment, she imagined the Doctor standing in her living room. In her kitchen. In her bedroom, surrounded by the photos of everyone and everything she loved. Clara resisted the urge to shudder. Instead, she interrupted, "No. I'll meet you at the park in front of the office. We'll get a cab from there." The Doctor made a small sound of agreement. "Then I'll be expecting you." He said.

"Good."

"Good."

Clara separated the phone from her ear. "Goodbye," she said, and tossed her phone on the bed. Running a hand through her hair, Clara headed into her living room. She sat down on the couch and after staring into the void, Clara let out a soft breath to herself. "Do something productive, Clara," she muttered to herself. "Clean your flat. Dress yourself. Read a book."

_("What. Are. You. Doing?" Clara asked, stunned. She dropped the groceries onto the floor, only realizing too late that there were eggs inside one of the bags. However, her attention was more focused on John teetering over the windowsill, his entire upper body stuck out into the open air. His arms were also out – his head was as well – only his legs were visible, and his feet were firmly planted on the ground. Still, John lifted his head and waved his arm weakly. "Oh, good afternoon, Clara!" he said cheerfully. "Are you back from your shopping trip already? Did you get the Jammie Dodgers?" _

_"Did I – yes, I – but – _John_," Clara emphasized, walking forward. "What are you _doing_?"_

_"I've been thinking about maybe painting a humongous portrait of the Mona Lisa here, Clara! Wouldn't that be nice? You know – nice to have a large painting? That'd be cool, yeah?" John asked excitedly. Clara's heart sank. Taking a few soft steps toward John, she warily looked over John's face. At once, she saw the signs – too bright eyes, the slightly crazed smile on his lips, the pink in his cheeks which were only present when he was in one of his moods. When he was in one of those phases. _

_And a little bit of crazy was good. A little bit of crazy got Clara to dance with John on rooftops in the middle of a rainstorm. A little bit of crazy made Clara and John run out of the flat at midnight and go onto a trip at random. A little bit of crazy made Clara and John play around in the wishing fountains in broad daylight. _

_But a lot of crazy – the kind of crazy that kept John late up at night and made him work until four in the morning was harmful. And frightening. And incredibly sad._

_The process was familiar to Clara. "How long has it been since you last slept?" Clara asked gently.) _

xXx

Clara rocked herself back and forth on the heels of her shoes. She stared at her reflection in the glass of the office building sitting in front of her – she watched her face, framed with her curled, dark hair. She silently observed her dress – a dark red one, which seemed simple enough. She had certainly taken her time in choosing it – until realizing with a sinking heart that she didn't have anyone to show the dress to.

Still.

"Decided to come early? I did, too – looks like you beat me to it."

"Ladies know how to get things done quickly." Clara replied briskly, not even turning around to look at the Doctor. She stared at his reflection shining on the building. "But at least you're making an effort to keep up." The Doctor smiled dryly in response. "And I see that you're still cross," he said. "Though I'm sure you already know it's not going to do you any good."

"Doesn't matter if I'm cross or not," Clara replied, lifting a hand to hail a cab. "It just matters if we can get through this without any trouble." A cab slowed down before her. Swinging open the door, Clara let herself in. She wanted only for a few moments for the Doctor to join her – and when he did, she said about the address.

"Did you collect any more unknown information?" Clara asked stiffly.

"No."

xXx

The address led the Doctor and Clara to a large, elegant-looking building. Clara stuck one leg out of the cab and for a moment, looked up at the building with some admiration. "Well," Clara said, flicking a glance to look at the Doctor. "I don't know too much about your people skills, but I think we can both agree that you'll have to try a bit harder to play nice."

"And you? Some might find your attitude intimidating."

"Do _you?_" Clara asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Clara was pleased to find a look of bewilderment cross over the Doctor's face. "Do I what?" he asked. Clara stepped out of the cab. Clasping her hands in front of herself, Clara repeated slowly and deliberately, "Do you find me intimidating?" The Doctor scowled. "Careful with that ego, Miss Oswald," he said. "It'll be the end of you."

"I told you to stop calling Miss Oswald," Clara said, all traces of amusement disappearing from her voice and face. The Doctor pressed his lips into a smile. "I know," he replied. Clara considered glaring him down – maybe giving him some other obvious sign of her disproval – but fluffed her hair carelessly instead. "We've got more pressing matters at hand," Clara said flatly.

"I agree."

"Hm." Clara strode forward and knocked on the door only once before it swung open. "_Clara_," Missy Saxon said with such great feeling as though the two women had known each other for years rather than a day. "How _good _to see you! Oh, and the _Doctor _– how are you? Come in, come in – I've been wondering when you two were going to come! It would have been _dreadful _if you two were late."

"Thank you for extending your invitation to us, Missy," the Doctor responded. "I understand that it was harder than anticipated." Missy pursed her lips, though in an (unsurprisingly) playful manner. "Oh, _Doctor_," she said, dancing her fingers in the air. "I'd do _anything_ to make things more convenient."

Missy beamed at Clara and the Doctor and said, "Well, don't just stand around now! We still have much to do – so many people to introduce, so much music…and of course, a chance for some cold-blooded murder." With that, Missy winked at the Doctor. When both the Doctor and Clara didn't return the amused gesture, Missy sighed. "wrong context? Ah, well – I suppose you can say that's a bit inconsiderate. Though," she added as she led the two guests down a grand hallway, "you can hardly blame me for saying that. In all of the good mystery and crime novels, murder always occurs at a dinner party." Eyes glinting, she asked over her shoulder, "Why do you think that is?"

It was the Doctor who replied. (Again.) "Dinner parties are always filled with distinguished, wealthy guests – wealthy people are always filled with unbearable jealousy and hatred for each other. Always climbing to get to the top of the social ladder – it doesn't take much to tilt someone towards the less desirable direction when it comes to law and order." Missy smiled. "Exactly, Doctor," she said. "Exactly."

For an unsettling moment, all three people fell quiet. A strange and tense atmosphere seemed to come in between all of them – until, that is, Missy said with a bright smile, "Though I don't think we'll find any interesting murders, after all. The most exciting thing that happens in these occasions is when someone gets a bit too much to drink." She waved her hand in the air. "But enough of my silly little rambles. Follow me!"

Clara and the Doctor wordlessly walked after Missy. After heading down a number of corridors, Clara and the Doctor stood before a large ballroom. An actual, real-life ballroom with chandeliers and draperies and people dancing to music that seemed to play from a small quartet in the corner of the room. "Old-fashioned, I know," Missy said, turning to Clara and the Doctor. "But I couldn't resist. Much more romantic this way, don't you think? And I always _was _one for drama."

"We can see that…" Clara murmured, watching a couple waltz by. "How did you get this place together?"

"I have a few friends that owe me favors," Missy replied. A waiter stopped by the three, a tray dotted with champagne flutes. The woman picked up a glass and nodded her head to Clara and the Doctor. Bracing on a smile, Clara gracefully took a flute and let her eyes wander around the ballroom. "Well, off I go! Have fun, you two," Missy said. With that, she headed into the thick of the guests, occasionally calling out to one person or another in greeting.

Clara was the first one to move. She cleared her throat and taking a quick sip from the champagne, she said, "You heard her, didn't you? Let's move around. Act natural." When not hearing a reply, Clara called, "Doctor?" She turned around – only to find that there was no one there. Frowning, Clara turned back to the ballroom to see that the Doctor was, in fact, already talking to a group of people.

_Seriously? _Clara thought indignantly to herself. Huffing under her breath, she started to walk towards the opposite side of the room. As she did so, Clara couldn't help but to feel the prickle of competitiveness creep up on her. This was just another mission. Another obstacle to jump over. Yet, Clara thought, _Fine, Doctor. Game on. _

It didn't take too long for Clara to come across a few guests. They were all incredibly loud – and incredibly excited. Clara had trouble trying to keep up with the conversation.

"What do you do for a living, Clara?"

"I –"

"Oh, I started off as a schoolteacher! And then I went on to model in Paris –"

"Oh, shut up, no one wants _your _story. Did you _know_, Clara, I actually ended up going to this –"

Clara quickly excused herself. She slipped away from the group, claiming that she needed to use the restroom. As soon as she was out of the ladies' line of sight, Clara sighed and rolled her eyes. At times like these, Clara was glad that she didn't have too many girl friends outside of work. (Though she supposed Amelia was a friend – and maybe Martha. Maybe Rose? But they were all other agents or workers in the system. _That_, Clara thought, _probably didn't count in the definition of proper friendship or normalcy._)

On her way to the restroom, Clara grabbed the Doctor's elbow. She forced on a smile at the questioning looks she was given by the rest of the group who were talking to the Doctor. "Sorry," she apologized. "I'm just going to borrow him for a moment." She tilted her face up to her partner. Smile still on her face, she asked, "Doctor, can you come along with me?" The Doctor nodded his head. "I don't see any issue with that," he replied in a neutral tone. He looked over to the group and said, "If you'll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." Delicately pulling his arm away from Clara's hand, he set across the room. Clara followed, but hurried her pace so that she would be in front of the Doctor.

Clara noticed that he didn't bother trying to step ahead.

xXx

"So, did you find anything? Any signs of Christopher Nelson?" Clara asked, crossing her arms across her chest. The Doctor shook his head. "Not yet," he replied. "It seems that there aren't too many people here who are familiar with him, either – and by not too many, I mean none." Clara frowned. "Do you think Missy is just covering for Nelson? Maybe this entire thing is a trap." She pointed out.

"We thought that our visit to Missy's was going to be a trap, too – but it still got us somewhere," the Doctor argued. Clara pressed her lips tightly together. "Keep your eyes out, then," she said, turning on her heel. "And if there's any suspicious movement, call me on my mobile – or if I'm close enough, get to me. Don't waste any time." The Doctor lifted his thick eyebrows. "Thank you for giving me the obvious advice, Clara," he replied.

Clara didn't bother looking back as she said, "I wouldn't be giving it to you if I didn't think you needed it."

She walked down the hallway and back into the ballroom, where she was instantly greeted with more lights and people. "Another champagne, miss?" a waiter asked. Clara didn't bother looking over. "No, thank you," she murmured, her eyes scanning the crowd of people. Somewhere, Christopher Nelson must have been lurking around.

"Please, I must insist."

"No, thank you," Clara repeated, eyes still looking around.

"This champagne is really _extraordinary _–"

"I said I didn't want it," Clara snapped, looking up at the waiter. She was ready to argue some more before her eyes locked on a familiar set of eyes. _Christopher Nelson, _she only thought before the waiter smashed the tray over her head.

It took Clara a few seconds to get back to her feet. Blinking the yellow dots out of her eyes, Clara scrambled to her feet and instantly kicked off her heels. _No time for any of that, _she thought to herself, and sprinted after Nelson's retreating back. She watched with narrowed eyes as he dropped the tray, creating a few guests to cry out in surprise – and Nelson started running himself.

_Mistake number one. _

Clara reached out an arm, trying to grab hold of Nelson's coat. She inwardly cursed herself for not bringing a tranquilizer or a small pistol of a sort – that would have been _so _much handier! _You've grown sloppy, Clara, _she thought to herself with gritted teeth. _Get your head together!_

She crashed through some other poor waiters – hurdled herself past a few unsuspecting guests – practically _threw _herself into a few flowered pots and vases before crashing straight into the Doctor. "Already thinking of leaving?" he asked, steadying her by the arms. Clara ripped herself away and furiously, she said, "No time for that! Nelson! He's a waiter!"

The Doctor's face fell. He instantly turned on his heel and started running in the direction that Clara had been in only seconds before. "Why didn't you call me like we said we would before?" he asked as Clara ran by him. "I hardly had enough time, did I? He slammed a tray over my head," Clara retorted. The Doctor gave her a sidelong glance, filled with obvious annoyance. "But if you had _called _me, I could have gotten him!"

"You mean _we_," Clara snapped.

"Obviously, you don't believe in a _we _if you deliberately –"

"_Now? _We're doing this _now_?" Clara interrupted angrily.

"_You _were the one who made the mistake, not me."

Clara turned her eyes back to face front – and keeping her eyes on Nelson's back, she said through gritted teeth, "Tell me you've got something we can take him out with." When the Doctor didn't say anything, Clara's heart sank. "_Are you _kidding _me_?" Clara asked, frustrated. She took a few quicker steps until finally – _finally _– Nelson came into full view. Only this time, they were no longer in the ballroom.

Nelson came to a balcony, a wide grin on his face and arms spread out wide. Clara came to a short stop. "Christopher Nelson," she called out, again wishing for the millionth time that she had brought along a tranquilizer. "You are under arrest for leaking information to unknown, outside forces and for the murders of –"

"An impressive speech, agent," Nelson replied. He was backing into the railing of the balcony. "But I'm afraid it won't have to do." He gestured around the empty air. His smile widened and waving his hand, said, "Too-da-loo!" Before Clara could even process anything else, Nelson stood at the top of the railing and flung himself off.

"No!" Clara yelled, running over to the edge. She watched, horrified, as Nelson's body plummeted down, down, down…until there was a sickening, odd _crack _sound that broke the pavement. Clara stumbled away from the balcony. Breathing hard, she turned to look at the Doctor, who, for once, looked just as stricken. "Well, that was _just_." She said, shaking her head.

xXx

"Christopher Nelson is dead because you two couldn't cooperate with each other, is that correct?"

Clara kept her eyes trained on the desk. She knew even without looking that the Doctor was doing the same as well. Madame Vastra made an impatient sound at the back of her throat. "_Miss Oswald_. _Doctor. _Is that correct or not?" she asked coldly.

"Yes, ma'am." Clara and the Doctor said quietly in unison.

Clara heard Vastra emit a long, annoyed sigh. "The Director doesn't like this whatsoever. I do not, either. Not only did you two go into the scene _without any _preparation, but what I'm hearing is that there was a _small _chance that we might have gotten Christopher Nelson into custody. A _small _chance is all what we would have needed. Instead, what do we find? Two of our best agents fumbled and let their competitiveness get the best of themselves." The worst part of it all was that Vastra did not raise or lower her voice – and Clara couldn't help but to feel wave after wave of shame wash over her. Finally, Vastra said, "What you two did back there was childish and foolish. You didn't even _consider _calling the agency." It wasn't a question.

Clara remained silent.

"I've had an interesting debate with the Director. We believe that you two need to be put off this case."

_This _brought an instant spark of attention. "What?" Clara blurted out, looking up. "No! Madame Vastra, with all due respect, this was –"

"A mess," Vastra finished, narrowing her eyes at Clara. "It was a mistake on my part to let you two carry on with such a major mission together in the first place, obviously." This time, her eyes flicked over to the Doctor. Clara felt as though she should have been pleased to see that he was being berated as well – but for once, Clara didn't have the stomach for it. "You two will be put into a different mission – I'll see to it that some other agents will be able to handle where you left off." Vastra added. She stood up. Clara forced to lift her face to watch her.

"In the meantime," the older woman said sternly, "I'll be giving you a different assignment in a few days. Be ready. You two are dismissed."

* * *

**A/N - Review please? I know there's more than one person reading this story, and it's somewhat off-putting when you realize that you have many views on a chapter but not a whole ton of people who can take two seconds to write a few words. Reviews are motivation - they're what keep a writer feel better about writing/putting work out on the lovely Internet.**

**Constructive criticism is tolerable, but flames are not!**


	7. Until a Miracle Came Along

**Spring break is here and from where I live, it's 11:52 PM. No regrets. Whatsoever. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter Seven. Until a Miracle Came Along _

The new agent who was taking on the case was thoroughly apologetic when Clara greeted him. He also happened to be John's older brother. "Listen," he said, placing a hand on Clara's arm. "I'll talk to Vastra. I'm sure she's being hasty. You _need _this case. You _need _to get yourself back to –" He cut himself off before he could say it, but Clara knew as well as David Smith what words were about to be uttered.

_You need to get back to normal. To how you were. _

Instead, however, Clara just pressed her lips together into a tight smile. "It's fine, David. _I'll _be fine." She gently pulled herself away and added, "And I think Vastra might actually be right." (God, it pained her to say that.) "It was a mistake on her part to make the Doctor and me go into such a big mission together when we were just made partners. We just need something…smaller to work on for now." Clara drummed her fingers against David's shoulder. "I'm sure you're the right man to finish the job." David gave her a helpless sort of smile – one that sickeningly reminded her of John. It seemed to be a reoccurring trait with the Smith boys. (Not that Clara would ever _like _David in a romantic sense – he had always acted like an older brother.)

"Speaking of that Doctor – how are you getting on?" he asked, worry seeping into his voice. Clara puffed out a breath. "Honestly?" she asked dejectedly. "We're two driving forces, David. He thinks one way, I think another. We just can't –" She let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't _know _why."

David slipped his hands into his pockets. Bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, he murmured thoughtfully, "You might actually be able to work that to your advantage. You said you two thought differently – that's sometimes a good thing, isn't it?" Clara chewed down on the inside of her cheek. "I know what you're trying to get at, David," she said slowly. "But I just…it's hard." She ended pathetically. Clara felt like a whining child, especially when David gave her another sympathetic smile.

"You'll figure something out, Clara," he said kindly. "And if things are getting hard, you know my number." Clara nodded her head, though she already knew that she wasn't going to ever bother calling.

xXx

"Spontaneous combustion," Vastra said when the Doctor and Clara walked into the office the next morning. As she sat down, Clara asked, "Excuse me?" Vastra slid a folder towards the Doctor and Clara. "Spontaneous combustion," the older woman repeated. "We've been following a trail of murders – oddly enough, people have been, if one could describe it – _exploding _with little remains left." Clara frowned. "Little remains?" she inquired.

Vastra smiled grimly. "It appeared that each victim was missing a body part. An eye, an arm, a hand…" She gestured to the folder. "Obviously, local police don't have the technology or the intelligence to piece this mystery together. I would think you two do." She stood up. "Now," the older woman added, her eyes glittering. "Let's see if you two can get this done without causing too much of a disturbance."

Clara nodded her head. Both she and the Doctor reached for the file – and snapping her head to look at the older man, Clara gave him what she hoped would be a convincing glare. The Doctor, on the other hand, stared straight back – and then shifted his eyes only slightly to Vastra. He let go of the folder and Clara stood up. Clearing her throat, she said, "Of course, Madame Vastra. This won't be a problem at all."

The Doctor walked out first, Clara close behind. The minute the door was closed behind them, Clara said, "Listen. It's obvious that last night was a bust. We didn't get anything done and _because _of that, we're going to work _together_. Yeah? Actually _together_. Not like what we discussed before. From now on, if one of us finds something, we alert the other instantly. No exceptions."

"I would like to remind you the same thing," the Doctor murmured. Clara felt a flare of annoyance in her chest. However, breathing in, she forced herself to say, "And I apologize for that." She stiffly extended a hand. "So. Shall we get to work?"

xXx

"Missing body parts," the Doctor murmured, tapping the files with a pen. "Used for – used for…_something._" He sighed and looked up. "If you happened to be a serial killer collecting body parts, where would you store them?" he asked. Clara shrugged her shoulders. "Somewhere close," she replied. "Close enough so I would be the only one who would get them. I suppose. But that's only if I _needed _the body parts for something."

"What would a person need body parts for, anyways?" Clara asked, frowning down at the papers. "I mean, I understand organ and kidneys, but…who would need an eye? Or a hand? Or an…" Her frown deepened and she felt her stomach churn easily as she read, "Arm?" She looked up, surprised to see that the Doctor had an equally disturbed expression on his face. He tapped his fingers along his desk and then, he murmured, "Really sounds like those old days. Replacing a body part with someone else's."

Clara's nose wrinkled in distaste. Then, she paled and asked, "You don't think that's the reason why a person would _do _this, though, do you?" The Doctor held up the file. "I'm only stating what's possible, Clara," he replied. "And frankly, this seems possible enough."

_Ergh_, Clara thought. She took the file and said, "Fine. I'll head out to the actual places of the murders. Maybe I'll find something." The Doctor stood up. "Would you like me to come with you?" he asked politely. Clara kept her hands clasped over the file. She looked up at him – and after a few beats of tense silence, she managed, "That's what partners do, yes?"

She tucked the file underneath her arm and nodding to the Doctor, said, "Come along, then. I want to get this done over with as quickly as we can."

xXx

"A block away from a family restaurant, a shop, and a nail salon," Clara said, sweeping the street with her eyes. "Hardly seems to be the typical storage place for body parts." The Doctor turned to Clara. "Haven't you ever learned to expect anything?" he asked. Clara puffed out a breath. "Tried that once," she responded. "Didn't work out too well either way. You, then?"

"Ah. Getting personal, are we?"

"You asked first."

The Doctor gave Clara a sidelong glance. "_You _were the one who answered," he pointed out. Clara rolled her eyes. "Have it your way, then," she said, and walked down the street. She let her eyes drift from building to building. "Any guesses?" she asked, flicking a look at the Doctor. "Do you want to take the shop – and have me take the restaurant? Get some questioning done?" The Doctor nodded. "Call me if you find anything," he said. Clara bobbed her head and was about to head down to the restaurant when the Doctor called after her, "And Miss Oswald?"

"Yes?"

The Doctor pressed his lips together. "_Actually _call me this time," he said. Clara lifted a shoulder in acknowledgement and whirled back around. She didn't look back as she headed down the street – and instead concentrated on the restaurant.

It was a small building – but one with large windows and alive with activity. A few waiters milled around the great room, silently attending to chatting customers. Clara looked around the room, carefully examining everything – the decorations on the wall, the furnishings, the waiters…from her point of view, it didn't _seem _like anything was wrong. _Haven't you learned to expect anything? _the Doctor had told her. Clara briefly closed her eyes, inwardly cursing herself. _Now _really _isn't the time, _she thought indignantly.

"Would you like a table?"

Clara nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up to see a waiter standing at her side, holding up a tray and his arm gesturing to a booth at the back of the room. Clara cleared her throat. "Say that again?" she asked. The waiter tilted his head. "Would you like a table?" he repeated. Clara folded her arms across her chest. "Sure," she replied. "Yeah, why not?"

"Follow me, please," the waiter said, and led Clara to the booth. Clara sat herself down on a seat and handed her a menu. "Will anyone else be joining you tonight?" he asked. Clara slipped her hands over the menu. "Um…" she looked down at the specials – and then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a few scrawled on words.

_Call._

Clara frowned. She did a double-take. _The message, _she thought dumbly to herself. Still, she slowly looked back up at the waiter and said, "Yeah. Another menu would be nice." The waiter nodded and turned on his heel. Clara sighed and leaned back in her seat. She ran her hands through her hair and looked around the room another time. She silently observed the waiters – and couldn't help but to feel an odd chill up her back.

_("There's something wrong," John said quietly, looking around the room. Clara frowned at him. "Don't most spies think that?" she asked. She brushed back a strand of his hair. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. See? We're in our flat. Nothing here." _

_John drew in a deep breath. He relaxed back into the bed and nodded his head. "Fine. Everything's fine." He murmured.)_

Clara fished her phone out of her pocket. After dialing the phone number, Clara lifted the device to her ear and said in clipped tones, "Doctor."

"Clara – just about to call you. Scoured the shop. Went through all the storage rooms. I don't think I've found anything here." The Doctor replied. Clara flicked a look around the room again. "Yeah, but I'm at the restaurant…there's something off about it. And I found something strange – did you write on one of the menus?" There was a surprised note in the Doctor's voice as he responded, "No."

Clara slowly looked back down at the menu. "Then why…" Her voice drifted as she looked back at the customers. Another chill ran up her spine. "Doctor," she said. "Do you think you can come to the restaurant?"

"Give me a few minutes. I'll be there."

Clara hung up the phone. She let it fall to the table and casting another weary look at the people surrounding her, Clara settled back into her seat. She spent her time toying around with the cloth napkin sitting on her plate – occasionally looking down at the menu and then heard the door open. Clara lifted her head just in time to see the Doctor striding towards the booth.

Clara lifted her hand halfheartedly as he slid down into the seat next to her. "Any reason for calling?" he asked. Clara picked up her menu. She tapped her finger at the _Call _message and inquired, "Are you sure you didn't put this here?" The Doctor frowned. "Why would I write something like that? I've never been in this restaurant before." He looked around the room. "Actually," he added, "I don't think I've ever even _heard _of this place."

"Odd," Clara remarked dully. She sighed and pushing the menu away, said, "Never mind. That wasn't the only reason for the call. Look around. I know you said only to call if I found something, but I can't help but to feel that there _is_, by some chance, something _here_." She looked up at the Doctor. "Can't you feel it?"

The Doctor looked around the room again. Clara watched as his eyes fixed on one particular family seated at a table – they were chatting and talking animatedly with their hands. Clara heard a giggle from one of the children. The Doctor narrowed his eyes at them and he turned back to Clara. In a low, steady voice, he murmured, "Clara. Look at the diners."

Clara frowned. She flicked her eyes at the family. "I see them." She whispered. "What am I –"

"No, _look _at them. Actually _look_."

Clara pressed her lips together. She tilted her head towards the family once more and then to a couple sitting by the windows. A woman held a cup to her lips and placed it back down on the table; the man cut the food on his place. Clara sucked in a surprised breath as the actions continued, never once changing. The woman kept putting the cup down and holding it back up. The man kept cutting the food in his plate. They never once looked up or talked or actually ate anything. Clara turned to the family – and slowly realized that the children weren't eating either. Rather, they were constantly laughing and talking gibberish.

"Okay. So." Clara murmured to the Doctor. "They're not eating. They're not doing anything. Why?"

"What else aren't they doing?" the Doctor asked out of the corner of his mouth, picking up a menu. Clara glanced up at the lights. At the fans. At the _unmoving _fans. Clara frowned. Carefully, she ripped out a strand of hair and watched it drop to the floor without much trouble. Stricken, she looked up and said, "Breathing. Doctor, they're not breathing." She looked over to the Doctor. "But how is that possible? They're _moving_. They _look _real enough."

"Expect anything, remember?" the Doctor replied quietly. "Why not a non-living crowd of fake diners?"

Clara breathed in another deep breath. "Okay, then," she said, forcing herself to sound calm. "We call for back-up. There's something definitely wrong now; we can't just solve this all without proper help." The Doctor nodded. "That would be a good idea," he muttered. The two agents stood up – and froze as all of the diners rose with them.

Clara's heart jumped to her throat. She shot a look at the Doctor, who returned the gesture with his own eyes widening. He took a step forward – only to come to a stop when the rest of the diners followed in suit. He turned his head to Clara, who said meekly, "We could…always have another look at the menu." The Doctor nodded in subtle agreement and the two walked back into the booth. Clara tried not to notice the fact that the rest of the diners sat down as well.

"Right," Clara murmured, holding up the menu. "Any suggestions on how to handle this?" she whispered. "Because I've got the bad feeling that these diners won't take lightly to calling for help." The Doctor looked down at the table. "How long can you hold your breath?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth. Clara's brow furrowed. "I don't know," she squeaked. "Not too long, I think…"

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a cool voice. "Are you done looking at the menu?" a waiter asked. The Doctor and Clara turned to look up at the waiter. "Um…" Clara heard the Doctor murmur. "Have you got any children menus? I like the pictures on them, really." Under different circumstances, Clara might have found her partner's remark rather funny, but at this moment, she was more interested in the waiter's icy eyes than the humor behind the Doctor's comment.

The waiter, however, didn't look fazed. Instead, he said, "Liver. Spleen. Eyes." Clara frowned. "Got any…specials?" she asked weakly. The Doctor, however, was looking for a different approach. He tilted his head towards the waiter and called, "Excuse me." Promptly, he grabbed at the waiter's face, revealing a metallic face in the process.

Clara flinched, though she didn't bother moving away. "I suppose we know why whoever did this needed those body parts," she mused aloud. The Doctor nodded his head somberly. "We're going to have to –" His voice was cut off by the sound of a clicking sound. Clara sucked in a breath as she felt something tighten around her stomach. She looked down to see that the seats of the booth were separating – and vibrating underneath her.

"Looks like we won't be going anywhere," the Doctor said to Clara. She nodded once. "Well, then," she said, looking up at the ceiling as the seats lowered deeper and deeper into the ground. "Now would be good a time as any to formulate a plan!" Clara hissed.

"For once, Miss Clara Oswald, I agree," the Doctor responded.

xXx

When the seats finally came to a stop, Clara could only make out darkness. She could smell the damp stench of the underground (underground. _Why _was it always the underground? Or vents. Clara had some experience with that. It never ended well.) She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the dark. "Doctor?" she whispered. When no answer came, Clara froze. _Oh, God. Did something happen? _

"Doctor," Clara repeated. "_Doctor_."

"Clara?"

Clara let out a breath. She reached out her leg to give the man a swift kick. The impact of her foot against something solid and the grunt of surprise gave Clara the impression that she had hit the Doctor's leg. "Next time, if I repeat myself over you _multiple _times, you'll _answer_!" she said frantically.

"Understood," the Doctor replied.

Clara sighed. "We're going to figure something out," she said shortly. "Let's see – underground. Abandoned. A bunch of metallic waiters with peeled on faces and people who aren't breathing." She hesitated. "Do you think all of those diners were of the same materials of…the waiters? All made up of metal and…_body _parts?"

"Sign of an ill mind, I believe," the Doctor murmured.

"Sounds more like something out of a horror story," Clara replied. She strained against the binds. "_Ugh_, I can't get out of these," she muttered. "I've got something for these kind of situations in my pocket –"

"Do you really?"

"I always come prepared," Clara replied. She shifted her hands, trying to wrestle around with the restraints. "Now. Hold on, Doctor; the minute I get ourselves out of these, we're going to have to figure out an actual plan. And maybe catch whoever's behind this."

* * *

**A/N - Reviews would always be great! Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames are not!**


	8. And Then They Realized

**Aaagh - I can't believe I managed to scrape together this chapter, especially with my brain spinning with...word vomit. :/ (This past week has just been really rough for me. :() **

* * *

_Chapter Eight. And Then They Realized _

Clara pried her hands free of the restraints. Rubbing her hands over her already-sore wrists, she turned to the Doctor and said, "Move a little so I can get you free." The Doctor obliged, inching away. Clara worked at the restraints – and with a soft _click_ing sound, they came undone. The Doctor instantly stepped away from the seat, murmuring, "Glad to finally be out of _that_."

"If that was a thank you, then you are very welcome," Clara replied, straightening herself. She took a few steps back and eyes adjusting to the darkness, managed to make out that the tunnel was in fact, not a tunnel – rather, a dim chamber. Inching forward, Clara whispered, "Flashlight?"

A faded beam of light shown from the Doctor's flashlight – and both he and Clara came to an abrupt, surprised stop.

The Doctor was the first one to speak.

"Well," he murmured, "I'll admit, Clara, that I've seen many strange and questionable things in my time, but I think this would be a first." Clara lifted her head to better observe what was going on around her – or more specifically what was present around her.

In the dimness of what little light the Doctor could provide, Clara was able to make out the horrific sight of an abundance of still bodies guarding what seemed to be other tunnels connected to the chamber. They were still, with eyes wide and arms held at an awkward position. Still, they looked real enough – life-like. Clara had the sickening feeling that like the bodies in the restaurant, these were just as capable of moving without a single breath. At the center of the chamber was a single seat – something that almost resembled a throne, with a man seated atop it. Like the other bodies, he was still – only this one had his eyes closed.

The Doctor sucked in a surprised breath. Clara looked over at him, curious. "What?" she asked quietly. The Doctor slowly neared the man on the seat. He looked straight down and out of the corner of his lips, he whispered, "Look at his hands." Clara frowned. She slowly turned her eyes down – and nearly flinched at the peculiar sight.

"The hands," she managed to say, "they're not – they're not matching." And it was true – one hand was noticeably larger and bulkier than the other, which was frail-looking and young, like the one a person would find on a child. Clara felt her veins run cold in fear and shock.

"Well," the Doctor said, looking up at the seated man, "at least we know what the missing body parts were for." He waved a hand in front of the man, who didn't stir from his slumber. Clara backed away – and flinched as the hands suddenly snapped together. She exchanged an uneasy look with the Doctor – quietly, she whispered, "We should try to –"

"Find a way out? I agree," the Doctor finished. Clara nodded her head and the two started to back away as the man with the two different hands started to wake itself – Clara couldn't really know how else to call the _thing _– awake. She looked around the wide chamber, looking for some way out – but from her perspective, the only exit she could see was the way she and the Doctor came down…and she certainly didn't know how to work that thing.

"Any ideas would sound fantastic," Clara murmured under her breath. "Do you have any, Doctor?"

"I…have a theory with one of these tunnels, but there's really no telling…" the Doctor murmured. "Do you think you can pull together a plan of your own right now?"

As the thing at the center's hands started to unlatch themselves, Clara felt her heart kick into a higher, frightened pace. "Well, it's not my first time being in a sticky situation," she replied slowly. She walked around the entrances of the tunnels, all bolted shut by metal. She tucked a hand in her pocket and murmured, "So…I'll see if I can think of something quickly."

_("Clara, any minute now!" John shouted into the com. Clara grimaced and furiously typing on the computer, replied through the device, "It's a bit hard when you're pressed for time! I could have disarmed that system minutes ago, if you had only taken the route that I gave you!" John groaned. "Fine, Clara, fine – if I get out of this alive, then…" his voice drifted. After a pause, he added, "Celebratory dinner and an entire re-run of those shows you love so much." _

_Clara smiled, though it was a strained one. Typing faster than ever, she replied, "Don't say if. _When _you get out alive, we're going to have a celebratory dinner, a re-run of the shows I love so much, _and _an extreme run-through of apologies. Lots of them. Have them at the ready." She could almost hear John's smile. "Sounds good enough for me," he replied. "So…how about that disarming?" _

_Clara nodded, though it was more to herself than John. "On it," she replied firmly. "Get ready in three…two…") _

"One!" the Doctor hissed, yanking something out of his pocket. He shot a glance at the man at the center and said, "Clara, come over here – we can get out this way." Clara frowned. Crossing her arms, she asked, "How?" The Doctor held up a small, thin device. Clara narrowed her eyes at it. "What is that?" she asked. "Screwdriver," the Doctor murmured. "A little side-project I've been working on…_if _I made this correctly, then I think…" He switched on the side of his invention – the screwdriver.

Slowly but surely, the bolts on the entrance to the tunnel started to open up. Clara felt her heart leap. She cast another look at the man – and whispered warningly, "Doctor, I think it's waking up a bit faster..." The Doctor turned to look at what Clara was pointing out – just in time to see that thing was starting to lift its arms and stretch out its legs.

_Is that thing even a human? _Clara wondered sickeningly to herself. _A machine? An animatronic? _Both ideas didn't sound too good. Clara wondered for a second about the all of the sci-fi movies she had watched as a child – at least, all the sci-fi movies with robots coming to life and taking over the modern world. She shuddered. She didn't like the idea of living through something like one of those movies.

"Wait a minute," the Doctor said, suddenly dropping his arm at his side. As though he had read Clara's thoughts, he asked aloud, "What _is _that thing? Aren't you even a bit interested?" Clara grimaced. "I am interested, Doctor," she said hurriedly, "very much so, but I actually don't think now is a good time!"

The last bolt was undone. The door to the tunnel slid open. Clara started to push the Doctor in – though he stood firmly to himself, mumbling unintelligible things under his breath. "_Doctor_," Clara protested, pulling at his arm. He didn't budge. "No – there's something – _something _about this that doesn't look _right_," he murmured. Clara pressed a hand to her face. "Of _course _it doesn't look right! We've got to _go!_" She gave the Doctor a final shove through the tunnel – and then, without warning, the door bolted shut between them.

Clara sucked in a breath of surprise and whispered, "_Doctor!_"

"Yeah, I've got it," the Doctor replied, whipping out the screwdriver. He started to undo the first few bolts, when suddenly, he froze. Clara grabbed the sides of the door. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"He can't catch us both," the Doctor said aloud, an odd look in his eyes. Clara stiffened. Forcing herself to keep her voice even, Clara replied, "Then give me the screwdriver – sneak it past the crack of the door!" The Doctor drew back from the door. "I might need it," he replied quietly. Clara watched with wide eyes as the Doctor started to head down the tunnel – not looking back and completely without her.

_He left me, _Clara thought, eyes wide. _He left me. Oh, my God_.

"_Doctor!_" Clara called out, but no reply came. No footsteps retreated toward her. Nothing happened. Clara swallowed back a lump of despair in her throat. She pressed herself against the door, trying to fight the sting of tears in her eyes. She swallowed again and turned. The thing was officially awake now, walking around the chamber in jerky, awfully mechanic movements.

_What do I do now? _Clara wondered frantically. _What do I _–

The door across the chamber opened. Clara bit back a shriek as another person walked through – walking just as mechanically as the thing that was at the center of the chamber before. She stiffened, trying to make herself look as blank and calm as possible. Any minute now, she could be caught. She could be found, and there was no telling what these awful creatures would do to her next –

_They're not breathing, _Clara suddenly thought. _In the restaurant. They weren't breathing. If they weren't breathing, then… _

Clara inhaled a deep, long breath – and keeping her mouth closed, she held onto it.

More people were filing into the chamber. The thing from the center – their leader, by the looks of it – slowly looked around the room – and his eyes (oh, his eyes…!) locked onto Clara's. He took a few steps forward, staring at the brunette. Clara kept her eyes as wide open as possible (do these things blink?) and desperately tried not to notice the fact that her panic was making it harder for her to hold her breath.

After a few seconds, the thing moved away from Clara.

Clara felt her heartbeat slow down – and turned to the door that the other creature had come from. _Leave that way, _she thought to herself. Carefully, quietly, she started to walk towards the door. She tried to imitate the walking style of the creatures around her – tried to move as jerkily as she possibly could.

_He left me. _

Clara wanted to collapse when she saw the amount of creatures in the tunnel. They were all standing at the sides of the walls, wearing stoic and oblivious expressions. Clara was seeing red and yellow flash across her eyes now – her chest was heaving, and the tears that were starting to spill out of the corners of her eyes weren't helping the matter, either.

_("If you don't give me the intel, I'll kill all of those kids – and us – in the school with a press of this button," the woman said calmly, holding up a detonator. Clara shot a look at John. However, to her surprise, he wore a look of complete and utter peace. A small smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "Go on," he replied. "Do it. I dare you." _

_When the woman didn't say anything, John added, "What are you waiting for? One big boom – is that it? Is that seriously your only threat?" He shook his head. "Not the most impressive one in all of my time here." He turned to look at Clara. With a snap of his fingers, he asked, "How're we coming along?") _

Clara's lips parted and a breath whooshed out of her. Gasping, she started to crumple at her feet – and faintly heard someone say, "_Grab her_." She didn't even bother fighting against the cold hands (of course they would be) that dragged her away.

xXx

_("Do it. I dare you.") _

Clara woke up on a cold, metal floor with a soft gasp. She shifted and not entirely sitting up, blinked her eyes open. From what she could gather at her position on the floor, she could see a pair of boot-clad feet…some more feet…and then suddenly, Clara was staggering up to her feet to face the main creature.

Clara took a few steps back, stifling a scream. The creature stared down at Clara with undisturbed calmness. "Where is the other one?" he asked coldly. Clara bit on the inside of her cheek. "The other one?" she asked. The creature tilted his head. "There was another one who came down with you. Where is he?"

"I don't know," Clara replied. Well, that wasn't a lie.

"Where is the other one?"

"I don't know."

"If you do not tell me, I will have no choice but to kill you."

"Really." Clara said, forcing herself to remain calm. Still, she shifted a little ways from the creature. "I don't know where my partner is."

"Then I will kill you."

_("Do it. I dare you.") _

Clara squared her jaw and shoulders. "Go on," she replied coldly. "Do it. I dare you." The creature did not respond. Clara managed a triumphant smile. "See? Threats don't work unless you deliver," she said quickly. _Good. Good, good, good. You've got it all under control. _

"I will torture you," the creature said, tilting its head to the side again. Clara clenched and unclenched her hands rapidly – _nervously _– still, she smiled. "There, see?" she asked. "Now we're going backwards."

"Where is your partner? You call him the _Doctor_. Where is the Doctor?"

"How about we both ask each other questions? I'll go first – why do you need all the parts? What is this all for?"

* * *

**A/N - I'm sorry this chapter isn't as long as it usually would be. :( Again, this past week has just been...bleh. So that might have affected my writing ability. **

**Still, reviews would be nice! Constructive criticism is tolerable, but flames are not.**


	9. They Weren't That Different At All

**Aah! I'm back! I'm sorry for not updating this sooner - but my laptop is dead. And by dead, I mean it can't access the Internet or anything. So while Microsoft Word is still active, I need to update stories through my brother's laptop. (I owe him so much for that.) **

**And there was also the fact that I ran out of inspiration and school was crazy. But since I only have a few days of classes/finals left, I finally whipped up this chapter! Enjoy! **

* * *

_Chapter Nine. They Weren't That Different at All _

Clara held her breath. She watched as the droid seemed to come to a stop. Then, a few heartbeats later, the droid replied, "We are going to the Promise Land." Clara frowned. "The Promise Land?" she asked. "What's that? What do you mean, Promised Land? Is there something or someone you're working for? Who made you? Did you do this to yourself?"

"Enough questions," the droid responded sharply. Its head tilted again – this time to the other side – and it said, "I will ask you the questions. Where is the Doctor? He was with you. He is your associate. Therefore, he must be with you." Clara glared. Pressing her hands tightly to her sides, she responded, "I don't know – I told you. He's gone." Looking around the room – still looking for an exit – she hissed, "My turn to ask a question now. What's the Promise Land?"

"We will reach the Promise Land."

Clara resisted the urge to growl in frustration. "Yes, but what is it?"

There was a long pause. Then, the droid replied, "It is our final destination. You will now give us the answer – where is your partner?" With each word, it took a step closer to Clara – until she was pressed against the wall, breathing hard and quickly through her nose. Trying to keep her voice from trembling (and God, it was hard!), Clara replied, "I don't know. He left me. He's not coming back – understand? He's not coming back, you awful creature, so stay – back!" With that, she shoved the droid back and scurried away from the wall.

("You came back," Clara sighed, relieved once John was at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled. "Please," he replied smoothly, "you'd have to try a little harder to get rid of me." Clara tried to grin – but it came off as a grimace instead. Pointing down at her laptop, she said quietly, "I got the intel – but I thought you were gone. You just…vanished."

"That's because I left a little present for our friend," John said with a small smile. Grabbing Clara's hand, he said, "Come on. Let's get going." As Clara packed up her laptop and the two headed up the stairs, John added over his shoulder, "And for the record, I'm not going to leave you. Not now, not ever."

Clara stared at the back of John's head. "And why is that?" she asked.

John only allowed a second to shoot a brief look at the brunette. "Because," he said in a softer voice. "Because we always come back. We don't walk away.")

"If you will not cooperate with me, I will force you," the droid said, walking towards Clara. The shove didn't seem to have caused any confusion. If anything, it seemed more stoic and still as ever. If I ever get out of this alive, Clara thought desperately to herself, I won't ever watch movies about robots taking the world ever again. Ever.

"Go on, then! Do anything! Do whatever you want! I don't know where the Doctor is!" Clara exclaimed, walking backwards. She let out a small shriek as the droid reacted by igniting what seemed to be a small flame from his hand. Clara instantly felt tears – scared tears – spring from her eyes and stammering, she said, "Yes – yes – I am crying because I am afraid. I'm terrified – God – but I don't know anything else! If you're going to – to try to get answers out of me with pain, you're going to have to try a fat lot harder because I don't know what else to do – no –"

Clara hated how her voice was escalating as she cried out. She hated how scared she sounded, how helpless and shriek-filled her voice was. In the spy movies, the main hero was always cool and n the spy movies, the main hero was always cool and confident. This was anything but.

"We can negotiate!" Clara gripped the hem of her shirt tightly, trying to control her trembling.

"Droids do not negotiate."

"Lucky for you, I don't happen to be a droid," Clara replied. She leaned forward – and though the droid didn't react, she asked again, "Why are you here?"

"We are fixing ourselves."

"Fixing yourselves?" Clara asked. "Who told you to do that? How long have you been – stuck there? Rearranging yourselves?" She narrowed her eyes at the droids. "How long as this been going on?" The droid lifted its hand, re-igniting the flame. Clara shrieked and stumbled backwards. "You've been doing this forever," Clara said quickly. "You've been tracking humans down and luring them into this restaurant to repair yourselves." She paused. "Aren't you tired?"

"We will find the Promise Land," was the droid's rigid response.

"And that is?"

"The destination promised to us. Promised to us by a name unknown to you."

"Who?"

The droid lifted his hand again. "We have run out of questions. If you will not tell us where the Doctor is, we will begin." Clara pressed her eyes shut as the droid's hand seemed to near her – seemed to light closer towards her until she could feel the heat licking against her cheek.

"Ah!"

Both Clara and the droid turned to see the Doctor – peeling off a mask from his face – smiling at them both. "Hello, hello, creatures of the dead," he exclaimed, throwing away the mask. Clara watched, feeling a mixture of anger and disbelief well up inside of her like a balloon. The Doctor walked forward, a wide – and almost amused – smile still stretched across his face. "Rule number one of controlling a control freak – you can't. Five foot one and crying," he told the droid. "You never stood a chance. Isn't that right, Clara?"

"I wouldn't know! I was suddenly abandoned!" Clara snapped, picking the Doctor's mask up from the floor. "And I'm not a control freak!"

"Yes, ma'am," the Doctor replied dryly.

Groaning, Clara threw the mask down and strode up to the Doctor. "After this, I'm going to have a word with you," she muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "But seeing that we're currently surrounded by a group of droids that won't stop moving unless you hold your breath, I can't. So unless you have a better idea –"

"I did, actually," the Doctor interrupted, flicking his eyes up at the ceiling. Clara slowly followed his eyes – and letting out a sigh, she murmured, "You should have let me in on the plan." The Doctor sighed. "It needed to be believable," he replied simply. Clara glowered at the Doctor, even though he turned back around to face the droid. "So…tick, tock, tick, tock – what have we here?" he asked, circling the droid. "No breathing…talking about a Promised Land…a final destination…" He turned to Clara, snapping his fingers. "Come on, come on," he said pointedly, "you're clever – think of something!"

"Now? _Now _is the time you compliment me?" Clara asked abruptly, feeling her voice rise in indignation. Before the Doctor could respond, there was a loud crackling sound above. Clara closed her mouth – looked up – and cried out in surprise as a hole burst through the ceiling. Out came tumbling Madame Vastra, wielding knives and her partner – Jenny – jumping down beside her. Clara watched, absolutely stunned, until Strax came barreling down.

"We told you to take the stairs," Jenny sighed, looking over at the short man.

"You called them?" Clara asked, turning to look over at the Doctor.

"Something that I decided to do while I was gone, yes."

"We _really _need to talk about that, by the way," Clara muttered under her breath.

Whether the Doctor heard her or not still remained a mystery. Instead, looking over at Jenny and Vastra, he said, "The droids around us are dormant for now – they don't seem to move until –"

The head droid made a gesture – and then with a loud click-click-clicking sound, the droids around the room started to stir. The Doctor sighed. "I spoke too soon," he murmured. "I hate it when I do that. Change of plans – take down as many as you can!"

Vastra narrowed her eyes at the Doctor, holding up her knives. Clara watched as the woman punctured out the eyes of a droid without even looking. "Need I remind you, Doctor," the older woman said, taking back her knives, "we are fully capable of formulating a plan on our own. _You two_ see if we can get our little friend out of here. Whatever you mentioned in your message didn't sound too good."

"Of course," Clara and the Doctor said in unison. They both turned to look at each other – Clara narrowed her eyes; he narrowed his – and then they both grabbed the head droid by the arms without hesitating.

xXx

"So. Why the quiet? You should be running your mouth by now."

Clara snapped her head at the Doctor, feeling rage enflame her. Her grip still tight over the droid (if not tightening even more), she snapped, "You know what? I am so _sick _of you _mucking _about with this nonsense! I _should _be running my mouth, shouldn't I? Is that what you would _like _to hear, Doctor? Is that what you _want _me to say, so you can feel all high-and-mighty about yourself again?" She glared at the Doctor, adding furiously, "Because right now, I would like _very much _to just _run _my mouth about how _selfish _and _foolish _you were. _Are_."

To the Doctor's credit, he took his time to respond. Then, after a pause, he said calmly, "I asked if you were going to run your mouth because I figured you would like that. Running your mouth at me, I meant. It'd be better for you to get it out now rather later, when this is all wrapped up." Clara snorted so hard that there was a sharp pain at her head. She paid it no mind, instead saying, "Oh, my God, really? You wanted me to get this out _now? Why? _So you'll look good later?"

"No," the Doctor replied quickly. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant that you ought to get it out now because if you don't, well…think partnership-wise. It'd be a mess to try to sort it out later. Now is better." Clara almost pushed the droid into the Doctor – only instead, she glared down at the droid, trying to look for a way to vent out her annoyance. "This _partnership _is a disaster," Clara hissed. "You left. You broke one of the rules. You aren't supposed to _abandon _your partner, especially when they need help."

_("Why are we going back?" Clara asked, looking up at John. "We just got out! Why do you want to –"_

"_Don't _ever_ ask me that again." _

_Clara blinked at him – at the coolness of John's voice. "Why?" she asked quietly. "It's reasonable enough to ask, don't you think? There's so much going on in that building – we did our job. Now we can get out." _

"_Because, Clara," John whirled around to face the woman. His face was close to Clara's, his eyes stormy and intense. "Because, because, because…" he repeated. "Because if you need to know one thing about me when being my partner, Clara, it's that we don't walk away from people. Especially from people in need. No matter what the consequences – we need to be there. _That _is what we do. _That _is what this agency was built on. And _that _is exactly what I plan on doing." _

_Clara paused. "You mean we." She said softly, a small smile curling over her lips. _

_John's expression softened. "Yeah," he said, his eyes regaining a small shine. "We.") _

"I never meant to make you feel abandoned."

"Well, it's a little too late for that now," Clara replied coldly, looking up at the ceiling. She pulled at the droid a little harder – and added, "We should hurry up. The sooner we get this over with, the better, yes?" The stunned silence that followed after her comment almost made every bitter word Clara had uttered worth it. She felt a quick flash of satisfaction – only once she looked over at the Doctor's face, she felt it melt away as fast as it came.

He must not have thought Clara was watching – because Clara knew that if he knew that she was watching, the Doctor never would have looked quite as lost as he would now.

Because that's how he looked. Lost.

Confused – bewildered, maybe – but there was a sort of melancholy that hung around him. Clara narrowed her eyes at the man, trying to figure out if this was another façade of his – another trick or trap. She turned her head quickly around and concentrated on their footsteps instead – along with the droid's half-clunk of a walk.

Perhaps Clara's brief moment of wonder was the reason why her grip loosened – or maybe she wasn't paying attention hard enough, because in the next minute, the droid ripped from her hands and tore down the tunnel. Clara let out a cry of surprise – and turning to the Doctor, they looked eyes and came to a silent agreement: _Get him. _

It wasn't like the night of the party – Clara wasn't focusing on getting the job done by herself, and the Doctor wasn't thinking that, either, by the looks of it. They ran side-by-side, breaths in unison and speeding together to get to the droid. _How fast can this clunker even be? _Clara wondered tiredly. She looked over at the Doctor, curious to see if he was thinking the same – only to look away when she realized that the Doctor had looked over at her at the same time.

"We won't get it together," Clara said at last, still racing to keep up with the droid. "You should take its left – I'll take its right."

"Think you can keep up with it?" the Doctor asked.

Clara gave him a sidelong glance. "Eat my dust, Doctor," was all she said before she raced off. She thought she heard a laugh – or maybe it was a chuckle of disbelief – but she chose not to linger on it too long. She took the right side of the tunnel, watching as the Doctor seemed to sprint along the left side. His eyes met with Clara again – and he lifted a hand, counting down his fingers.

Clara felt a jolt in her chest – they would have to tackle it. It'd be a mess – but Clara figured she needed it at the moment.

"_Three," _Clara mouthed with the Doctor. She could feel her pulse thrumming against her body.

"_Two." _Clara's feet were little flashes underneath her.

"_One."_

Clara launched forward, kicking herself off her side of the tunnel and feeling the cold metal of the droid slam against her cheek. She grunted – felt the impact of the Doctor hitting its other side – and then they were both rolling, tumbling, gasping for breath as they went along the tunnel. Clara could feel the hard gravel crunch into the side of her face – she could feel the sting of something sharp against her arms – but then they came to a stop, and all that was left were the sounds of two breaths echoing around and around the tunnel.

The Doctor spoke first.

"That was a bit more exciting than I expected."

Clara winced as she sat up. Her entire body was already sore from falling – and shaking her head, she knew that she was going to feel that same pain – perhaps amplified – tomorrow morning. She rubbed the gravel out of her hair and her face – and turned to look at her partner.

The Doctor's hair was a mess – Clara figured that hers was as well – and there was a small cut through his jacket sleeve, which Clara guessed was only from hitting the droid in a wrong place. The Doctor's eyes lowered to Clara's legs. "You've – er – got something," he said, pointing.

Clara looked down and cringed at the sight of her ripped pants. She felt the sting of blood – but with a shrug, Clara responded, "I'll be fine." She stood up stiffly. "I'd be more worried about you," she managed to add, looking pointedly at the rips on the Doctor's sleeves. "Looks like the jumps were more trouble than they were worth."

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders as well. "I'll be fine," he echoed.

Clara cleared her throat. She looked down at the droid, nudged it with her shoe, and murmured, "I think we might have done…overkill." She watched a few sparks light up from the droid's neck. The Doctor lifted both of his eyebrows. "It's fixable," he said decidedly. "And besides, the damn thing can't run anymore."

It was Clara's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Why do you…" Her voice drifted at the Doctor's finger. It was pointing at – sure enough – a pair of metallic legs sitting a few feet behind them. Clara's lips formed a small "oh" – and then, shaking her head, she walked towards the legs. She bent over – picked it up – looked over at the droid, who was still sparking – and let out a small laugh.

"What's so funny?" the Doctor asked, bemused.

Clara sighed, and tossed the legs away. "Nothing," she replied, but a smile couldn't help but to stay on her face. "It just doesn't have any pants. It looked silly, that's all."

The Doctor opened his mouth – probably to disagree – but then, he looked down at the legs, and like Clara, turned back to the droid. With a smirk, he said quietly, "I suppose you're right. Looks a bit out-of-place, don't you think? Like one of those switchable toys?" Clara nodded. She picked up a corner of the droid's leg and waved it around the air. "You could really scare people with these," she said thoughtfully. "Once, when I was a kid, someone would take these fake limbs and hang them around the houses just to scare the children…I never thought it was funny."

"Fake limbs around the houses? Doesn't sound too pleasant."

"Oh, trust me, it wasn't." Clara threw the legs away. "Only now, it seems like I don't have a problem with them."

The Doctor looked over at the legs. "Fake limbs on a droid," he said.

"Guess there's something a bit ironic about that." Clara murmured, more to herself than to the Doctor.

"No, I guess you can say that there's something very _iron_-ic about that," the Doctor replied instantly. Clara lifted her eyebrows at the Doctor, puzzled.

"Don't you understand? _Iron? _Like the metal? Droid? _Iron_-ic?" the Doctor asked. Clara shook her head. "No," she said simply. "Don't. _Don't_. That's an awful pun."

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is, Doctor."

"It's _iron-_ic! It's suitable! It's a _great _pun!"

"Shut up, Doctor. It is not."

"You're jealous of my pun-making skills."

"I'm not jealous."

"You are."

Clara couldn't help but to laugh. "Seriously?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Of all the things to be childish over, it's a _pun? _You can't ever criticize me for not being serious _ever again_." The Doctor mirrored Clara by crossing his own arms. "Well, Clara Oswald," he replied, "that's where you're terribly wrong. I am quite good at making puns. You'll see. And they're absolutely not childish."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Come on, you," she said at last, grabbing the head part of the droid. "We should get going. And for God's sake, don't say anymore puns about droids."

"I guess you can that –"

"_No_, Doctor," Clara interrupted, but this time, she caught the Doctor smiling.

* * *

**A/N - I'm thinking that adrenaline is the reason why Clara and the Doctor are getting along at the moment. You know, after you do something crazy with someone (even if it's someone you dislike), the two of you just begin laughing because you're so relieved everything's over? Yeah. (Also, I may or may not have had that experience. So.) **

**Another announcement! I've recently hit 300+ followers/favorites on , and in celebration of that, I'm doing my very first FanFic giveaway, in which you can enter - yes, you, person sitting in front of a screen - and if you are one of the lucky five people to win, you can request any fanfic from me, as long as it fits the requirements. Check out my profile page for more! **

**So, reviews are always great! Constructive criticism is tolerable, but flames are not! (And thank you so much for not giving up on me!)**


	10. Twisted Confusions

**Hello, everyone! I know it's been about two and a half months since I've last updated but on my train ride home from DC, I finally put together the productivity to write this chapter. (Also, my laptop is still dead. I'm getting a new one awfully soon, though - THANK HEAVENS - but of course, the school year is coming around. So. I'm in a sticky situation, but hopefully, updates will be faster once I get my laptop. I can probably write on the weekends, just like how I used to.) **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

_Chapter Ten. Twisted Confusions _

Clara wrung her hair out in a towel. She watched as the wet drops of shower water dropped to her bathroom tiles – inspected them for a moment – and then heard the Doctor's voice say through her phone, "Are you finished yet?" Clara tossed her hair over her toweled-shoulders and picked up her phone. "Am now," she responded, stepping out of the bathroom. She circled her couch for a few moments before plopping down on it.

"I still don't understand why you thought it was a good idea to keep me on the line," the Doctor muttered from the other end. Clara examined her nails. One of them was chipped. Clearing her throat, she responded, "It's always good to have a backup plan in case something wrong happens."

There was a silence.

And then, the Doctor asked in a low voice, "Did you think you were going to be attacked in the shower? Is that it?"

Clara swung her legs off the couch so she'd be sitting up straight, even though she knew the Doctor wasn't watching her. Gripping the phone a bit tighter, she replied in a leveled tone, "All I know is that we got attacked by a droid-thing last night and it wasn't friendly. It was rambling about something known as the Promised Land, and it's still being hacked into. I would think that the creators of our little friend is less than pleased with whatever happened." Something caught the corner of Clara's eyes – her apartment keys, which usually hung at the hook by her door, were placed on the coffee table. Frowning, the young woman leaned over to pick it up. She fingered one of the keys, her eyes tracing over them before the Doctor asked, "Clara? Are you still there?"

"Mm-hm," Clara replied, putting her keys on her lap. She looked around her apartment room. A chill ran up her back – she _knew _she wouldn't leave her keys on the table. Why were they there?

"I think we should be more careful," Clara said at last. She stood and her fingers still running over her keys, she placed it on its designated hook. She let her hand stay on them for a few moments and added, "I take it that you'll be just fine on your own as well."

"That wasn't my first night on a dangerous mission, if that's what you're implying."

"Hm. Good." Clara paced the front of her couch. "We'll be receiving updates from the tech department with news about our droid friend. Until then."

"Until then," the Doctor agreed. There was a quick _click _on the line and with a sigh, Clara tossed her phone on the couch. She ran a hand through her still-damp hair and walked into her bedroom. The minute she was inside, her arms reached for her laptop and she sat down on her bed, already opening up search tabs. "When in doubt," she muttered under her breath, "Google is your best friend."

(_"What are you doing?" Clara asked, sitting down next to John. She frowned at his laptop. "_Google? _Seriously?" _

"_We might be spies, Clara, but I'll tell you one thing – we need to use all of our sources, and Google…" John's voice drifted as he typed a few words into the search engine. "Just happens to be one of them." He swung his chair around so he'd be facing Clara. With a sly grin pulling at his lips, he asked almost mischievously, "What, were you expecting some top-secret website?" _

"No_," Clara replied indignantly. At John's lifted eyebrows, she sighed, "Maybe. But that's beside the point." _

"_It's the little things, Clara," John murmured, his smile still on his face. "You'd be surprised.") _

Clara typed in a series of different combinations of 'the' and 'Promised' and 'land', but nothing interesting popped up except dozens of links directing her to theology websites. Somehow, Clara decided that those websites wouldn't provide much insight. She pushed her laptop off her legs and flung herself back into her pillows, her mind running over the events of the day instead of analyzing the actual droid-situation. (She really needed to come up with a different name. She was starting to grow tired of calling the last mission a droid situation.)

The debriefing had been fast – Madame Vastra had taken care of everything quickly and precisely, as she always seemed to. _One hell of a woman, she is, _Clara thought appreciatively to herself.

And everyone had gotten out without too much of an injury, either, which Clara figured was something of a success. Besides a few bruises and cuts herself, Clara was feeling rather triumphant over the fact that she didn't need any major patching-up. (This had happened more often than Clara would prefer.)

The minute the debriefing had ended – in one of the rooms that Madame Vastra usually met with fellow agents – what comfortable atmosphere Clara and the Doctor had beforehand had shattered. _Snapped. Faded_. It was all adrenaline. Adrenaline after facing what seemed to be the impossible – adrenaline after escaping near death – adrenaline was all there was to it.

It was a bit awkward, too – because Clara knew that she wasn't the only one who felt the sudden change in mood. She had left the Doctor with a small nod – he mimicked her movements – and the two stayed in the hallway only for a few seconds before quickly departing, with Clara murmuring that she needed to go home and the Doctor saying that he needed to do the same as well.

And then there was the phone call. So quick, so clipped, so _finished_.

Clara made an annoyed sound from the back of her throat. This constant pulling and pushing was growing bothersome and bewildering for her – _partnership _was essential. That was what Madame Vastra had told her, when Clara was first assigned to John. Those were the words that were drilled into every agent's head before having a partner – that having a strong, steady relationship was necessary to success. That yes, sometimes detachment worked in certain missions, but partnership was what kept a society together.

Joking around – making stupid puns and later standing together in the hallway – as casual as it seemed, it wasn't partnership. It wasn't even close to it.

With John, it was _easy_. Everything was easy. John was a likable person – he had charisma, a natural energy around him that attracted people for miles. He knew how to make everyone feel _something_. With the Doctor, it's _difficult_. Everything goes from cold stares to grudging acknowledgements and warmth only being shared due to the excuse of too much adrenaline.

"Never mind that, Oswald," Clara muttered to herself, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Mission first. Partnership _later_. Figure it out at a different time."

xXx

The next day was a Saturday, and Clara almost considered letting herself sleep in – but at exactly seven forty-five, she decided to get up and take another shower. Still feeling the same cold, unsettled sensation in the pit of her stomach, Clara was quick to wash herself. She blindly grabbed at the first change of clothes in her dresser – and quickly made it to her living room.

After another few minutes, Clara headed into the kitchenette section of her flat and started to make herself a small breakfast. She didn't feel like eating in the little dining area she had in her flat, either, so again, Clara found herself moving back to her living room. She spooned some oatmeal into her mouth and with the other hand, she reached for the television remote.

She flicked it on – and instantly, she was looking at the news channel.

For a few minutes, the young woman stared blankly at a handsome news reporter saying into the camera, "_There have been more missing person cases all around. Scotland Yard had promised to take care of matters, although they haven't offered too much information out to the public_ –" Clara's mind briefly snapped over to the image of how the droid had mismatched hands, eyes, legs…she shuddered, quickly flicking the channel to a cooking show instead.

Clara watched that for some time – and after finishing her breakfast, she turned the television off and instead reached for her laptop. She had nothing better to do.

xXx

But that was a lie.

As the sun started to set, Clara bundled herself up in a coat and a scarf to battle against the autumn winds. She stepped outside of her apartment building and hailed a cab. "Trenzalore Graveyards, please," she instructed simply. The cab driver only gave Clara a small nod through the mirror – and then Clara was being driven away from her flat. She pressed herself into the black seat of the car, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

She could feel the dying warmth of the sun through the window. Lights fluttered underneath her eyelids – she could hear distant shouts of children and parents.

_(People used to tell Clara that when she'd hold hands with someone who she truly loved, she'd feel electric sparks. Fireworks. She'd hear her favorite love song playing in her head. She'd feel as though her heart would jump out of her chest. People used to tell Clara that when she'd hold hands with someone who she truly loved, she would be elated beyond meaning. _

_But as Clara felt John's hand skim over hers, she didn't feel any fireworks or electric sparks. She felt…as though she was holding something precious. Something that would disappear in a second if she didn't keep holding on. Something airy and light, which was ironic, especially since John's hand was so much bigger than hers. It practically closed around Clara's, as though it was nothing at all. _

_And she loved the exhilaration she felt when having John's hand over hers. She loved how her heart pounded and how she felt as though she should just lean over and kiss him full on the lips, with her hair falling over her cheek. She wanted that very, very much. _

_Only they were in a cab, and Clara was too tired to move. She instead rested her head on John's chest, tracing over small patterns on his thigh with the fingers from her other hand. She felt John's chest rise and fall a little underneath her. She could hear his heartbeat, so relaxed. "Tired?" Clara murmured, her voice just barely over a whisper. She tilted her head up to meet John's eyes. They were kaleidoscope-colored, always seeming to switch between green and brown and hazel. In the fading light of the sun, they seemed to shine in more colors. _

"_Mm-hm," John murmured, running a thumb over Clara's hand. "Long day at work, don't you think?"_

"_Very," Clara agreed. She gave him a smile. "But at least it's over now." _

"_It's never over, Clara." _

_Clara rolled her eyes and tilted her head up to give him a kiss on the chin. "It's over now," she repeated. "Okay? Time to unwind." She heard John laugh. "Fine, Clara," he replied, resting his chin on top of her head. "Wouldn't know how to live without you.") _

After Clara paid and stepped out of the cab, she could only stand at the very front of the graveyard. She hadn't even called Amelia or Rory – and this wasn't going to be one of their little reunions, either. This was just something that she wanted to – had to do – _needed _to do.

Moving like a ghost, Clara drifted through the paths snaking around the graves until she came to the familiar one.

She crouched in front of John's gravestone, clearing up some dead leaves that had fallen in front of it. She wished she had brought some actual cleaning supplies – she'd need to clean up the stone soon – but when realizing that there was nothing else she could do, Clara resorted to just sitting down on the wet grass and staring at the engraved words.

And as Clara sat there, she became aware of the families and other visitors in the graveyard. She spotted a couple sobbing in front of what seemed to be a new grave – and Clara felt a sympathetic pang for them. Judging by the small decorations left on the grave (a small, stuffed doll and music boxes), she knew it had to have been a child that was lost. Amelia and Rory instantly cropped up in Clara's mind, leaving her feeling sadder and lonelier than ever. The two had tried so hard for children – Clara knew that much from her talks with John. The doctor had told Amelia that it'd be hard to give birth…and though she and Rory had tried, there was nothing to be done. Clara vaguely remembered hearing from John that there was a time in which Amelia _had _been pregnant with a child, and she _was_ born, though she died a few days later.

Clara spotted another family – complete with a father, a mother, and two little boys – standing in front of a different gravestone. The boys were sitting in front of the stone, their hands pressed against the cold surface and their heads bowed. The father kept patting the boys' shoulders; the mother kept swatting away at small bugs that were undoubtedly crawling up the sides of the stone. It was a pointless effort, but the mother didn't stop.

And as Clara sat there in front of John's gravestone, she wondered if there was perhaps another person thinking just like her – observing the mourners, the grievers, the ones with people lost to the icy hands of death. She would be seen as the young woman sitting in front of her boyfriend's grave – another sad tale to tell, another poor soul who had a person taken away from her too soon.

Letting out a long sigh, Clara tore her eyes away from the gravestone and turned around instead.

And then she saw a familiar, tall figure standing in front of a different gravestone, perhaps only a few paths away from Clara. The young woman stopped short, her arms dangling limply at her sides and her feet quite glued to the ground. She stared at the back of the Doctor's curly head, frozen in silence.

Clara could walk away. She could turn around, catch a cab, and go back home to do something else. Watch re-runs of a show; pretend that she had never seen the Doctor outside of working hours. That this never happened, that she had never entertained the idea that maybe, the Doctor had lost someone as well. Then again, the Doctor was older than Clara – there _must _have been someone he lost.

Clara was ready to turn and leave – she had her hands shoved deeply into her pockets and her collar turned up when suddenly, the Doctor looked away from the gravestone. His eyes – Clara had always assumed they were a pale blue color – were grey in the light, his features tired and drawn. And then he was looking up at Clara.

At first, the two didn't say anything. Clara stood in front of John's grave, not daring to move away.

"What are you doing here?" the Doctor finally asked, taking a few steps near Clara. She waited patiently as the Doctor crossed the paths before replying, "Same as you, I would think." Her words didn't have its usual bite – and Clara knew that the Doctor had noticed. _Well, she was too tired to play this game, anyways._

The Doctor flicked his eyes at the gravestone behind Clara. Unexpectedly, his eyes softened. "You were John Smith's partner," he said quietly. "I knew about that."

"He and I were close," Clara responded, digging her hands deeper into her pockets.

"Close?"

Clara didn't even try to hold herself back. "We weren't just partners in work," she said flatly. She lifted her chin a little, almost daring the Doctor to say something – react somehow, maybe give her a disapproving look or something else of the sort. She was certainly used to it.

Instead, the Doctor only nodded. "I see," he murmured. "I'm sorry for your loss – I never knew John personally, though I had always heard he was a…good man."

_("You're fantastic," Clara sighed, slipping her hands around John's waist. She heard him laugh as he flipped something in the pan. "_You're _fantastic," he replied, giving her arms a quick squeeze. Clara propped her chin up on John's shoulder, adding, "No, wait a minute – you're _excellent_. You're _wonderful. _You are absolutely, one hundred percent, _amazing_." _

"_Just amazing?" John teased, turning around. He had a bit of pancake mix stuck on the side of his face. Clara grinned, lifting a hand to wipe it away. "Come on, Clara," John said with a laugh, "you read books – isn't there any other word you can come up with?" _

_Licking the pancake mix off her finger, Clara tilted her head to the side. She narrowed her eyes at John, pretending to think hard. "Hm," she murmured. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers, not even caring that she had now gotten her thumb with pancake mix. "I know – you're _good_. You, John Smith, are one hundred percent _good_." _

_John's smile slowly faded from cheerful to contemplative. Quiet. Sad. _

"_What's wrong?" Clara asked, her brows knitting together. _

"_I just…" John turned back to the pan. Clara watched as he flipped the pancake over again. His hands were steady, but John's voice was much softer than usual as he said, "I'm not a good man, Clara. I never was." _

"_What are you talking about? You help people. Last I checked, that's what makes a person good," Clara said gently, resting a hand on John's arm. He didn't pull away, to her relief – though his sad smile remained.) _

"He never thought that of himself," Clara found herself saying. She dropped her hands out of her pockets. "John – he was always…well. He had a hard time believing anything related to himself." She pressed her lips together, and for a horrifying second, she was almost sure that she'd begin crying. Instead, Clara blinked a few times. _Control. _"Thank you for the comment, though," she said, brushing a strand of hair aside. She lowered her gaze, looking over the Doctor's shoulder to avoid his gaze. "But – um. You lost someone, too."

"Yes," the Doctor replied, turning away to follow Clara's eyes. "She was a…special friend."

"Partner?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

A silence hung between them.

Finally, the Doctor asked, "Do you still think you're being watched?"

"I always do."

The Doctor lifted his eyebrows. Clara lifted her shoulders. "It'll be fine," she said. "I know how to fend for myself." The corner of the Doctor's lips twitched into a rare smile. "That, I don't have a doubt about," he told Clara. She managed a small smile back. "Right – I better get going, then," she replied, patting her pockets. "Don't want to stay out too late."

"Of course," the Doctor said, taking a few steps back as Clara headed for the path.

"Right," Clara repeated, and started to head down when the Doctor called after her, "Stay safe."

Clara almost stopped. Instead, she looked over her shoulder, mouth open to reply – but found that the man was already walking in the opposite direction.

* * *

**A/N - So hey, I got through this chapter. This was _quite _the hurdle to jump, but it took a few new songs to get this chapter through. (Thank you, MusicKeeper, for recommending Halsey. I do not understand why I've been ignoring her songs for so long.) And I might have also given into the quirks of this show called _Ed_ (full episodes on YouTube, if anyone is interested) - it aired in 2000 - 2004, but it's great. (Plus, who can resist Tom Cavanagh?) **

**And who else is excited for season nine? Because I am! (_The hug(s). The handholding. The Doctor and Clara looking lovingly into each other's eyes._) **

**As always, reviews would be fantastic! Reviews always boost me to write more - constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not!**


	11. Deliberate Messages in Subtext

**Is there anyone else still reading this story? *shouts into the void* Hello? **

**I'm sorry for the lack of updating again - but lo and behold, I finally got my laptop. Only then, school got in the way and then things returned to being busy and my words not being able to cooperate with me. But finally, after intensely listening to the ****_Badlands _****album by Halsey (highly, highly, highly recommend it - not to mention that there are many songs that fit the Whouffaldi-esque dynamic), I started to write this chapter. **

**With that said, enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter Eleven. Deliberate Messages in Subtext_

There was only one person in the elevator.

"Going up?" the Doctor asked, a finger hovering over the buttons.

Clara pushed her hands into her pockets. And then she took them out.

"My office is on the same floor as you," was her only response as she walked into the elevator. The Doctor moved aside just a bit, though Clara still felt his jacket sleeve brush against her bare arm. She quickly walked to the very back of the large elevator, adjusting her coat over the crook of her elbow. The Doctor pulled away from the buttons – and Clara focused instead on the bright orange _12_ that lit up on the button panels.

She saw her reflection in the closed elevator doors now – she had taken the liberty of wearing stockings today, seeing that it was growing steadily chillier. Her feet were tucked into a pair of heels, and her white blouse was interrupted by her dark coat. And the Doctor – the Doctor was standing on the other side of the elevator, and in his reflection, he didn't seem to tower over Clara for once.

Clara re-adjusted her coat over her elbow again. The silence in the elevator was deafening.

She was almost relieved when the Doctor was the one who spoke first.

"Did you have a nice weekend?"

Clara turned her head just in time to see the Doctor's face twist into a brief grimace. She looked on with some confusion before it dawned to her. _The graveyard; of course, _she thought to herself. She had thought that the Doctor would have forgotten about it.

"Yes," Clara chose to reply. The muscles in the Doctor's face seemed to soften in some relief. She cleared her throat. "And…you?" _He was there, too. _

"Mine was fine," the Doctor replied, sounding almost just as careful as Clara felt.

"That's…good." Clara said with a brief nod. "Good…weekend."

The Doctor nodded back.

And then the elevator doors opened.

"We don't…have a new case right now, do we?" Clara asked at last.

"I believe not. Might just be paperwork."

"Ah. Well." Clara stepped out of the elevator first. "Have a nice rest of the day."

"You too."

"Good morning, Doctor – Clara!" Rose called brightly from her desk.

"Morning," Clara and the Doctor said in unison.

Rose's lips twitched into a smile. Standing up from her desk and carrying a pile of folders, she asked, "So you two are talking together today?" The young woman's voice was light – teasing – and though Clara knew she meant it that way, she still felt her defenses rising. "I've got…paperwork," she heard the Doctor murmur. His eyes flitted over to Clara again. "Morning," he repeated before heading down the hallway.

Clara turned to Rose, whose grin had now faded. "Oh, no," the blonde distressed, her eyes wide with alarm. "Did I –"

"No," Clara said promptly, lifting her coat over her shoulders. "He's just – well, I think we could all use with a bit more of the weekend."

Rose didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded all the same. "Well," she said, handing a pair of folders to Clara. "He was right about paperwork – but Madame Vastra wants to see you both tomorrow morning. Tell that to your partner, hm?" Clara clasped her hands over the thick folders, careful not to drop it or spill out its contents. "Can't you email the Doctor?" she asked, bringing the folders up to her chest.

"I've got other agents waiting for reports," Rose replied, sitting back down in her seat. "I'm sorry, Clara, but it can't be that hard – his office is just a little ways from yours, yeah?"

Clara pursed her lips. "Yeah, alright," she murmured, slightly disgruntled by Rose's quick response. Rose flashed her a small thumbs-up before turning back around to the computer sitting on her desk. Clara shuffled the folder underneath her arm – though before she could leave for the Doctor's office, she took a quick glance at Rose's computer screen.

Rose had been lying – there were no other emails that she needed to prepare.

Still, Clara didn't say anything. She turned on her heel and headed down the hallway, narrowly evading any other agents who were heading out of their own offices. She paused by her own office, sorely tempted to at least get her own things prepped – or at least drop off her coat and her copy of the folder under her arm – but pushed past, silently reminding herself that the Doctor's office was just a little further.

_("I know you're standing out there," John called. _

_Clara grinned and slid open the door. She was carrying her laptop in one hand, a pencil stuck behind her ear and cardigan wrapped tightly around her waist. John's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Well, I knew you were there," he corrected himself. "I just didn't know you'd go travelling back in time to look like a college student." _

_"College was just a few years ago for me," Clara reminded him, walking over and placing her laptop on John's desk. She stood back up and tightened her cardigan around her waist. "Besides, this wasn't even what I looked like in college, especially senior year. It was the year of sweatpants and permanent raccoon eyes. Oh, and beanies because I couldn't wash my hair as frequently as I would have liked. I hated that." Clara grimaced and sat down in front of her laptop. "But if you'd like to think of me as one of those college students who looked prim and proper all the time, then go ahead." _

_"I actually said you looked like a college student because of the level of casualness in your outfit today," John replied lightly, standing up from his chair and making his way to Clara. "I mean, don't get me wrong – I _love _your official business-women outfits, but this is a whole new level for work clothes. Besides…" He grinned. "You only dress casually when we're home." _

_Clara rolled her eyes, but her lips still perked up into a smile. "_This,_" she gestured to her clothes – which were casual indeed (a pair of dark jeans, a flannel shirt and the cardigan) – "does it for you?" _

_"A bit," John confessed. _

_Clara rolled her eyes again and turned back around to the laptop screen. "How'd you figure out I was out your door, anyways?" she asked over her shoulder. "Don't you think that was a bit risky? Imagine how odd it'd be if it turned out to be…I dunno, Vastra who was actually standing outside instead of me." _

_"Vastra would wave it off, and Jenny would be rightfully annoyed at me for the rest of the month," John replied. He gave Clara's shoulder a squeeze. "But I knew it was you because it _sounded _like you. You walk differently than everyone else. And Vastra always wears boots." _

_"I sometimes wear boots," Clara pointed out. _

_John's eyes were shining when Clara looked up at him. "But you step lightly," he said softly.) _

Clara rapped her knuckles against the Doctor's door. "It's me, Doctor; Clara," she called, slipping the folders out to her hands. She stepped back a little when the door swung open. The Doctor stood in the doorframe, his flyaway eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. "What is it?" he asked.

Clara lifted up one of the folders. "Rose wanted me to give this to you," she replied. "And apparently, Vastra wants to see us tomorrow morning. You'd be here tomorrow, yeah?"

"I would," the Doctor answered, looking down at the folder. "And you've got one, too."

"So it seems."

"New operation?"

"Maybe," Clara replied, trying to ignore the sudden leap in her chest at the prospect. She personally would take a mission over any paperwork left for her in her office. "But that's all I know," she finished, pressing her folder underneath her jacket. "I should get back to work now – I'll see you in a bit, Doctor," she said over her shoulder, and headed back down the hallway.

xXx

The only sounds in her office were her fingers typing over the keyboard. The slightly sticky sounding, consistent rhythm of the keys was a comfort to Clara a few hours ago – but now that she was thirsty, hungry, and aching in the eyes because of the bright computer screen (despite having turned down the brightness to the lower notch), she wasn't sure how much more of the paperwork she could take. (If it could even be called paperwork anymore. It was just sending message after message to citizen after citizen. Clara wasn't quite sure how Rose could do this all day, on top of accepting phone calls or randomizing phone calls or…)

Clara leaned back in her seat and rubbed her irritated eyes. She spent a few seconds to herself to pace around her office. After drinking from a water bottle, Clara had settled some – but even then, she dreaded going back to her computer.

She was sorely tempted to open the folder, too, but knowing that it was Vastra who had sent it to her, it'd be better to open it with her during the meeting.

_Still. _

Clara shoved the folder into her desk so that it wouldn't tempt her any more than it already had.

The drawer had just closed when Clara's door opened.

She jumped, almost as though she had been caught doing something wrong (which was ridiculous, because she hadn't done anything wrong) – and looked up to see the Doctor standing in her office. He had his coat on, and there were slightly darkened circles underneath his eyes. Clara had no doubt that she looked the same.

"You're tired," they said in unison.

Clara stopped short. "I can't stand staring at the computer for too long." She said, turning away from the screen. She looked up at the Doctor again. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Have you had lunch yet?"

Clara was painfully aware of her stomach complaining again. She looked over at the clock on her computer. _Noon. _She had gotten here at eight in the morning…and she'd had breakfast around seven…

"No," she admitted, turning back around to the Doctor. "Did…you?"

"No," the Doctor replied. He walked to the other side of the room and took Clara's coat off the hook. He tossed it to her – and Clara caught it with a hand just in time before it could hit the ground. "What's this?" she asked, though she slid her coat on.

"We should get lunch," the Doctor replied, tapping his head. "Can't focus if you're hungry. It'll make the work sloppy – and who knows, we might have to re-do it if we don't focus enough." Clara grimaced. "I don't think Vastra would make us re-do nearly four hours of paperwork," she replied, grabbing her office keys.

"Don't be too sure of that," the Doctor said. "She reminds me of one of my teachers – he made me re-write three of my essays because I had done them while listening to music."

Clara startled, surprised by the sudden bit of information. She looked over at the Doctor, though he didn't seem to recognize what he had said – or more specifically, what he had done. "Good teacher, though – she only wanted a little more than just an answer," he was saying as he closed the door behind Clara. He stepped out of the way – and it took a few seconds for Clara to catch on, but then she walked forward to lock the door.

When she turned back around, the Doctor was already gesturing down the hallway. "Shall we?"

Clara nodded mutely.

xXx

They were back in the deli.

Clara was brushing some of the excess crumbs on the top of her sandwich, while the Doctor toyed with the bottle cap of his soda. There were a few rustles through the deli, but it felt almost just as sleepy as it did the last time they were there. And though Clara knew that this deli was not at all like the restaurant she had been before, she found herself looking at the other customers every few minutes.

"Unnerving, isn't it?" the Doctor suddenly asked.

Clara looked up. "Huh? _Oh_…" She cast another stare over the others. "It's…somewhat difficult now, with all that's happened." She tried for a smile. "No bother, though. I always liked takeaway better than actually going out to eat." Drumming her fingers lightly against the table, Clara added, "But still. This is nice."

"Are you sure about that?"

Clara looked up. "Of course I'm sure," she said, her brow furrowing together. "Why wouldn't I be?" She spun around, her knuckles whitening in nervousness. "Is there something wrong? Is there –"

"I – no. _No_," the Doctor said hurriedly. "I was – I was only making sure that _you _were alright. I wasn't trying to imply anything."

Clara slowly relaxed back into her seat. "Oh," she replied. She scraped at a spot against the table. "I'm fine, and I'm sure about _that._" She hesitated. Her eyes flitted up to the Doctor – and she met his steel-grey ones before scooting back down to the sandwich. Clearing her throat, she picked it up and asked, "How about you? Are _you…_okay?"

"I am," the Doctor replied. He turned away. "I think I'm beginning to get used to this place. Might end up showing here more often."

"Yeah?"

"I said _might_."

Clara bobbed her head to the side. "That's…nice," she chose to say. "Nice…sandwich place." She was losing her words, and the Doctor knew it as well as she did. Clearing her throat again, Clara took a large bite out of her sandwich. She avoided looking back at the Doctor. This _felt _wrong. And awkward. And unbelievably odd.

Clara almost…well, she didn't exactly _miss _getting annoyed at the Doctor all the time. She didn't miss feeling infuriated every time she needed to work with him on something, and she _certainly _didn't miss all the times she would get into trouble with the Doctor for their cooperation problems.

However, at this point in time, Clara wasn't sure where else to go in this direction.

"You're acting strange," Clara said at last, putting her sandwich down.

The Doctor's eyebrows twisted upwards. "And you've come to this conclusion…how?"

Clara placed her elbows on the table. Leaning in slightly (but not too close), she repeated in a low voice, "You're acting strange. _We're _acting strange. Like we haven't just gotten through one semi-successful mission or I didn't see _you _in Trenzalore – or the other way around." She pressed her lips together. "So. _So_, I'm saying that from now on, we…clear this up. No more dancing around. Or circling around whatever our partnership is."

The Doctor frowned. "Am I to assume you've been thinking on this for a while?"

"I like to have things where I can plan things out – I like to have things in a controlled setting," Clara replied briskly, tilting back in her chair. "And honestly, I haven't been able to get into that setting for some time now." She tilted her head to the side. "So, Doctor – are we good on that, or should we spend a few more days trying to figure the other out? Because I'm telling you right now, that plan's going to take some time to process."

Clara was surprised to see a corner of the Doctor's lips twitch into a smile. "Do you do this often?" he asked.

"I've had practice tossing around people who didn't like to take me seriously," Clara replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "And truth be told, I think you're a bit more intelligent than to not at least acknowledge my proposal." She jutted out her chin. "And besides," Clara added, "you know I'm right. Things have been weird between us. We might as well break that up."

"I don't open up well on new terms," the Doctor pointed out.

"I've noticed," Clara shot back.

"Neither do you."

"That's…another thing I noticed about myself."

"And you still want to try?"

"I told you, didn't I? I like to have things in a controlled setting," Clara said.

xXx

"A bioweapon," the Doctor said with a frown, staring down at the file. He looked up at Vastra with a bewildered expression on his face – and Clara could hardly blame him. She was, if anything, just as confused as him. "What're we doing looking for a bioweapon? This should be for the science branches in our agency – or maybe the technical –"

"They're already working on this operation," Vastra replied, clasping her hands together. "Only they need people – specifically, a pair of people – to get into the facility working on this bioweapon and get back out _with _it. Most of the agents in the science and tech branches have their minor lessons in self-defense, but that's hardly enough to stay on their toes to retrieve this weapon."

Clara flipped through the papers. "_A bioweapon used to trigger fear,_" she read aloud. She lifted her gaze from the file to Vastra. "So…are we talking massive panic? If this was released, what would actually _happen?_"

"From our inside man, we've discovered that it creates…hallucinations. Manipulates the mind into thinking they're seeing something that makes them terrified. Imagine the damage it could do if it was released into the public. Criminals would always have the upper hand. Families could be torn apart. Imagine the people who _do _suffer from hallucinations on a daily basis – this would be too much. It cannot _ever _be fully developed or given to anyone else," Vastra replied tightly. She flicked her eyes at the space between Clara and the Doctor. "And after what success you've brought with our last case, I trust that this operation will be nothing _but_. I'm giving you more chances of redemption – this will not be taken lightly. Do you two understand?"

"Quite," Clara replied briskly. She tucked the file away. "And what about this inside man?"

"He'll know who you two are the minute you walk into the facility," Vastra said. "He's been working on this operation for some time – a member of the technical branches, after all. There'll be an extraction team ready when the operation is finished, and he will be coming back along with you two."

"Name?" the Doctor asked.

"Danny Pink," Vastra replied. "He's one of our brightest and talented. He can look out for himself, but this operation has gone on long enough. It's time to bring him home."

Clara nodded, standing up from her chair. "We'll be ready," she said. She gave a slight nod to the Doctor. "Won't we?" she asked, quieter this time.

A ghost of a smile hovered over the Doctor's lips. "I would think so," he replied, more to Clara than Vastra.

"I'm glad you two have come around to believing it," Vastra murmured. "But remember – this bioweapon is incredibly dangerous. If you become exposed to it, there's no telling how realistic the hallucinations may be. Just remember this as you head into the operation."

"We'll be ready," Clara repeated.

* * *

**A/N - Hopefully, updates will be faster now. (Also, who's totally pumped for the return of _Doctor Who? _I feel like Moffat has completely run out of reasons to _not _make Whouffaldi canon. The last few episodes screamed so much Whouffaldi that I forgot that it technically wasn't considered canon. _Honestly, _why haven't those idiots kissed yet?) **

**As always, reviews are fantastic! More reviews mean more motivation to work faster, so that's always a big plus. Constructive criticism is allowed, but flames are not.**


	12. Little Chances

Well, here I am again. Tomorrow is supposed to be the eleventh episode of season nine, and judging by the episode's synopsis, I'm not sure I'll be ready. (For those of you who don't know, it's supposed to be about Twelve facing his worst fears. And this is also where you're supposed to see him truly react in the aftermath of Clara's death.)

After _Face the Raven, _I got back into the swing of Whouffaldi. Strange how that works. (I guess it's because all of the past few episodes of season nine had screamed so much Whouffaldi that I thought everything would settle down in the fandom. Well, now that there's a major change, I suppose all of us are coming back together. Which is great in its own way, but..._Clara Oswald, my beautiful queen, why did you have to die?!_)

So this was me trying to tune out all of the canon and fly straight to denial land - in this other AU. Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter Twelve. Little Chances _

It was dark inside the car.

Clara wasn't exaggerating. It was pitch-black, and she couldn't even make out the Doctor's outline – even though she knew that he was sitting right in front of her. She knew that because every so often, their knees would bump into each other. Clara knew it wasn't because of her own knees – she was too short – and the Doctor's legs were much longer than hers. Still, she noticed that each time they collided, the Doctor would be the first to yank himself away.

To be honest, that suited Clara just fine.

Clara had to strain herself to make sure she wouldn't exactly hit anything else.

Needless to say, it was a bit tiring for her to stiffen every single time she thought they were going to crash. Thankfully, the ride only lasted a short while – and during that time, the Doctor scooted down so Clara would have more room. And though it was dark, Clara hoped that the Doctor would see her grateful nod of acknowledgement.

"Good luck," the driver said when they came to a stop.

"Thanks," Clara murmured, and without even waiting for any other warning, she slammed open the door.

xXx

She could smell chemicals. Chemicals and something a little too-clean. Chemicals and something too-clean and sweat.

The lights were bright, and the atmosphere was anything but relaxed. From Clara's vantage point, she could make out a dozen or so scientists rushing around the hallways, papers stuffed in their arms and masks covering their noses and mouths. Out of all of them, Clara couldn't see anyone who resembled Danny Pink.

"He's supposed to be in the East Wing," the Doctor murmured from behind Clara.

Clara turned around. It was dim in the vents and also extremely tight. Clara, being the small person she was, could fit a bit better in them, but she couldn't tell how the Doctor was holding up. He looked bored, if anything, and a little annoyed that he was being cramped up in such a tight space, but otherwise didn't look too aggravated. (Which Clara was thankful for. It would have been awkward, to say the least, if the Doctor turned out to be claustrophobic.)

"East Wing," Clara confirmed, turning around. "So…we're in the West Wing."

"It'll be a bit of a hike," the Doctor responded. "Or, in our case, a bit of a crawl."

"Good thing I've got strong legs, then," Clara murmured. She heard what she thought was a quiet laugh from the Doctor, though for all she knew, it might have also just been the vents working up again.

Clara instead focused on the directions to the East Wing, her hands and knees padding against the metal of the vents. She had to cover her mouth and her nose a few times, trying hard not to breathe in too much dust – she was sure she was going to get caught just by coughing too loudly. Every once in a while, Clara would turn around to make sure that the Doctor wasn't slowing down. (He wasn't.)

Underneath the dim light of the vents, Clara could only barely make out the Doctor's face. The vents cast a grey lighting on everything – which, while it didn't help matters of visibility, Clara was grateful for the cover. After all, who knew if it would come in use or not?

_Or not, _Clara quickly thought, turning back around. There could be no use for the lighting at all – this mission could go smoothly and without delay. That could always happen.

Clara scooted along a bit faster, trying not to notice how the palms of her hands were already red and swelling. She hated crawling with her hands. It didn't matter how strong her legs were – her hands were still taking the brunt of the trip to the damn East Wing.

"And here's where we take a turn," Clara said quietly. She stopped in front of the break in the vents. One led to the right – the other to the left.

"Are you sure?" the Doctor asked.

"Of course I'm sure," Clara replied. "I looked up the maps last night."

"So did I," came the Doctor's response. He jabbed a finger in the opposite direction Clara had intended to go. "And if my memory serves correctly, the East Wing would be _that _way."

Despite herself, Clara felt a small twinge of annoyance tug in her chest. "If you're wrong – or if I'm wrong, let's say – then our meeting with Danny Pink will have been delayed and our mission would be a failure."

"Can't have that."

Clara whirled around, half-expecting the Doctor to be wearing his usual smirk –

Only to realize that this time, the Doctor's expression was grave. He flicked his storm-colored eyes back and forth, going from the direction Clara was going to go in and back to the direction he had been planning on going in. Clara held her breath. She knew that the clock was ticking, keeping them quick on their toes. A decision had to be made now.

"Right," the Doctor said at last. "We'll split up. I'll go in my way, and you'll go on your way."

As the Doctor started to move past Clara, an arm shot out.

"What?" the Doctor asked, turning around.

Clara chewed down on the inside of her cheek. "That's not a good idea," she whispered. "If one of us are wrong –"

"I'm a quick thinker and so are you," the Doctor interrupted, though there was no menace or sarcasm in his voice. "You'll be fine on your own."

"And you?" Clara asked. "How are we supposed to know if the other is in trouble or not? Or worse?"

It might have just been the lighting, but Clara could have sworn she saw a ghost of a smile on the Doctor's face this time.

"Your concern for me is touching, Clara," he replied. "But if I'm hurt – well. I'll still figure a way out." He started to pull away again, but Clara held fast.

"That's not helping," Clara said shortly. "We have to come up with a better plan on how to meet." She finally let go of the Doctor's arm. To her relief, he didn't immediately go. Instead, he remained by Clara's side, his face only a few inches away. It was the space that did it, but Clara still found a new warmth spreading from the back of her neck. She made a mental note to herself to be better prepared for small spaces, especially when she was with a man nearly ten inches taller than her.

"If one of us is correct, then getting Danny would at most take twenty minutes, yeah?" Clara said, looking down at her watch. "Vastra said that Danny will know who we are. If that's true, then it won't take us too long to get back with him." Clara glanced down at her watch again. She needed to hurry up.

_No, _Clara corrected herself, looking back up at the Doctor. He was still looking at her – still focused on her. They_ needed to hurry up. _

Clearing her throat, Clara said, "We'll meet in the East Wing. And if one of us are wrong…well, by then, we'll have known where the real East Wing is. If we're not all back by the time fifteen minutes have passed, then we'll have to look for each other and take down the bioweapon together."

"And if you can't find the other even after that?" the Doctor asked. "It'd be a good idea to carry on with the mission even after that."

"No," Clara said sharply. The word slipped out even before she knew it was going out. The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed. "No," Clara repeated. "We made a promise – we made it _clear _that we're not going to do things our own ways. _This _on its own is just violating that promise – and I don't plan on ruining it any further."

"This is different," the Doctor pointed out.

"It really isn't," Clara replied. She looked down the vents. Taking in a quick breath, she turned back to the Doctor. "Just –" She met the Doctor's eyes.

"Just?" the Doctor waited expectantly.

Clara felt the rest of her words dry up in her throat. _Be careful, _was what she really wanted to say. _Be back on time. _

"I'm giving you a chance," she said instead. "Vastra's giving us _both _a chance. Please don't mess it up."

There was a silence between them.

Then, the Doctor replied, "Well, since you said _please._"

xXx

Clara's heart was racing as she crawled through the vents. Her brain was reeling. Part of her hoped that she had been right – that her memorization had been perfect and that she'd find Agent Pink on the other side of the vents – but a different part of her silently wished that the Doctor would be the one who was right, and that it'd be up to Clara to do the quick thinking.

Either way, Clara raged on. She gradually ignored the stinging sensation in her palms and forgot about the growing fatigue in her muscles. She figured she had crawled at least a good two miles before finally coming to a stop.

"East Wing," she whispered. She peered down through the vents – and her heart did something that was a mix of jumping and sinking.

Because she _was _looking at a sign that read "East Wing" (which was written quite clearly in large, bold letters), but if she was right, that would mean the Doctor really _was _wrong. And that he would have wound up in some other part of the facility which might not have been safe.

_He's clever, _Clara tried to assure herself. _He'll be fine. _

_("This isn't a good idea." _

_"Well, you weren't even supposed to come, Clara. I've run out of good ideas right now." _

_Clara stared at John, not even caring if she looked hurt. "I came," she said haltingly, "because I _knew _I should. You haven't been able to focus properly – going on a dangerous operation –"_

_"And _you're _supposed to help me focus? Christ, Clara!" John's voice broke. He pushed his hands up to his hair, saying frantically, "You need to leave. Vastra didn't bother giving you this op for a reason –"_

_"And I decided to come for a better reason," Clara interrupted. She opened her laptop. "I'll be outside – I'll be the hacker girl, like I always am, and you'll be the field agent. Like you always are." She shot a glare at John. "Don't even think about trying to send me back," she added. "Don't you _dare_." _

_"Clara –"_

_"I'm clever," Clara said. "_You're _clever. We'll both be fine." _

_And those were the last things Clara said to John before he died.) _

Clara heaved in a breath. She squeezed her hands together once – twice – and then, with still fingers, she removed the ventilation grate. She put it to the side, careful not to make too much of a sound – and taking in another deep breath, Clara started to lower herself. She tilted her head from side to side to make sure there weren't any witnesses – and when deciding that there weren't any, Clara leapt down.

Her boots made a soft thudding sound on impact, but other than that, Clara was relatively quiet.

"Impressive."

Clara spun around to see a man (wearing a white coat) holding up a binder. He was smiling slightly, though Clara sensed a definite tension in the atmosphere.

"Danny Pink?"

"That would be me," the man replied. "I assume you're Clara Oswald?"

"Yes," Clara responded. She walked forward. "Sorry – my partner and I split up to make sure you weren't in some other wing." _Well, that wasn't too far off from the truth_. Clara tried for a smile, which Danny hesitantly returned. "Right, Danny," Clara continued, "well, since it's my partner we're talking about, we'll have to wait for a good fifteen minutes. That'll be fine, yeah?"

At this, Danny's smile faltered. "It'd be risky," he said slowly, "and not to mention…a bit surprising."

"Yes, well, there's been some changes to the plan," Clara responded, smiling again. She hoped that her smile would signal Danny to play along, though he didn't seem to want to have any of it. Danny frowned, looking down at his binder.

"Fifteen minutes?" he asked.

"Just fifteen," Clara confirmed. "And then we can get to this bioweapon everyone's been nervous about."

"And the extraction team?" Danny prompted.

"It'll be ready for us," Clara assured. She looked out at the hallway, tapping her foot nervously against the ground. And the Doctor – well, he had to come back. He'd find a way. Or maybe, by some miracle, he had decided to turn around at the last second and head the way Clara was going in.

Clara shot a look up at the vent she had jumped out of, hoping that maybe she could catch a glimpse of a familiar face – or even a brush of fabric to alert her that the Doctor had, indeed, managed to follow her safely. She drummed her fingers against her arm, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes occasionally flicking down to her wristwatch.

"He'll be here," Clara told Danny, though she didn't bother looking at him. "He will be."

"I didn't say he wouldn't be," Danny replied.

Clara tore her eyes away from the wristwatch. She managed to look at Danny. "Yeah," she said. She cleared her throat. "Of course." She turned back down the hallway, this time hoping that maybe the Doctor would emerge from around the corner.

It was ridiculous how much Clara was hoping for him to show up – it really was. Context was important, after all. But God, Clara just wanted him back for the sake of having back – and to get the rest of the operation to go on simply. No other reason was needed. No other explanation.

"How long have you been working here as an undercover agent?" Clara asked, turning back around on Danny. She kept her tone light, trying to balance out the incoming panic in her chest. "Vastra said something about how you've been here for a while, but I didn't get to look through your files to see how long she exactly meant."

Danny shrugged a shoulder. "Only a little while," he responded. "A few months, maybe. I wasn't supposed to be the one sent in here – Vastra had someone else in mind, but I ended up coming at the last second."

"What happened to the person who was supposed to work this mission?" Clara asked quizzically.

Almost automatically, Danny replied, "He died."

"Ah." Clara paused. "Did you –"

"No. We didn't know each other."

"Mm." Clara waited for a full moment before asking, "Have you…gotten to see what this bioweapon does? On the effects it has on people?"

Almost as soon as she had asked that question, Clara regretted ever letting it come out of her mouth. Danny's face darkened considerably, the expression on his face downcast and clouded. He clutched onto his binder a little tighter – so tight that Clara could see the white in his knuckles. He didn't say anything – he only gave Clara a short, terse nod of acknowledgement.

"Right. Maybe talking about it isn't the best idea," Clara murmured. She checked her wristwatch again. Six minutes had passed – only nine left to go.

_Damn _the Doctor.

Clara wished she could pace. Or move around to show how nervous she really was – but she couldn't afford to do that in front of Danny Pink, who seemed to be doubting the whole plan already. (And honestly, Clara couldn't blame him. Even to herself, the plan seemed weak. Weak and riddled with all sorts of flaws.) Instead, Clara took up on concentrating on how many breaths she took in a minute. She stopped moving her fingers and dropped her arms to her sides instead. She planted her feet on the ground and kept her eyes staring straight ahead, trying not to blink.

_Come on, _Clara urged silently. _Come on, come on, come on – don't screw this up now. _

"What else is in this facility?" Clara asked, twitching her head towards Danny's directions. "Any additional guards? Any extra security measures that might not have been able to get into the files?"

"Not that I know of," Danny replied instantly. Clara briefly wondered if he, too, was just as worried about the Doctor as she was…which would be touching in its own way. "There's just the typical security guards. There might be some extra scientists or workers milling around, though…"

"He'll be fine, then," Clara said briskly. She rocked a little forward on the tips of her toes. "As long as he keeps his head down, he should be alright."

"…I suppose."

"Good. An _I suppose _is good."

Almost as soon as she had said that, Clara's wristwatch started beeping.

Clara felt her heart drop.

"That's supposed to signal that fifteen minutes are up, right?" Danny asked over Clara's shoulder.

Clara wordlessly turned off her watch. She shot the hallway and the vent another unsettled, reluctant look. _Come on, _she thought again. _Out of all the times to mess up – please don't let this be the one to mess up. _

"Lead on, Danny Pink," Clara only said.

xXx

There was something gnawing inside of her stomach. Something aching and cold and slippery all at once. Clara wanted to push it deep down inside of her and ignore it for the rest of the mission, but it persisted nevertheless.

_He'll be fine, _Clara thought to herself as Danny led her down the East Wing. _He's the Doctor. He'll be just fine. _

"I should warn you," Danny said over his shoulder, "that when you're facing the bioweapon, there might be a slight chance that it could be turned on without you suspecting it."

"And it's supposed to show you your worst fears," Clara nodded. "Read that cheerful part – so turning on the bioweapon would be bad. Do not want the bioweapon."

"That's the gist of it," Danny confirmed. He stopped short in front of a metal door. Pressing his hand against it, Danny added, "And if there's one thing you want to do when facing the bioweapon, you want to make sure that you don't actually look at it."

"What? Why?" Clara asked dubiously.

"It…" Danny's voice drifted as the door started to scan his handprint. "It's strange, really. It was built in such a way that it senses when it's being observed."

"But it's not living."

"It's a bioweapon," Danny responded, as though that explained it. "It'll sense that it's being observed and pick up on mind waves to – it's complicated. Just don't look at it, and you'll be fine."

Clara's mind was spinning. This hadn't been a part of the files. She hadn't prepared for this. She felt her throat go dry, and the familiar sensation of panic clawed up her throat again. Clara closed her eyes as the door slid open.

The first thing she felt was cool air – deliciously cool air that brushed against her skin and sent the hairs on her arms stand up straight. Clara padded into the room, her arms swinging by her sides and her eyes squeezed so tightly that she could see green and yellow dots flashing from underneath her eyelids.

"It's not turned on," Danny said suddenly.

Clara didn't bother opening her eyes. "How can you tell?" she whispered.

"Because there's no one here."

Clara snapped her eyes open. She looked around wildly, just to make sure that Danny wasn't mistaken – only to find that he was absolutely right.

The room – if one could call it that (it was more like a chamber) – was absolutely spotless, with nothing but blue lights and a bed sitting at the center. Clara gave Danny a nervous look, but he didn't seem that surprised.

"Why the bed?" Clara breathed.

"Number one fear of everyone," came Danny's quiet response. "What's underneath your bed?"

Clara felt something run up her spine. She rubbed her arms – the cold wasn't exactly helping matters. "I just need to turn it off," she muttered, shaking her head. "Turn it off and then say good riddance to all of this." She started to move for the bed, her arms already reaching out to look for the proper way to deactivate it –

There was a loud crash.

Clara flinched – she heard Danny cry out in surprise, and then there was a number of angry voices swarming around them. Clara turned around to see a group of scientists and guards flooding into the room, all wearing equally angry expressions.

And through them all –

Clara felt her heart jump into her throat.

"Doctor," she whispered.

The Doctor was standing between two guards, and while he looked unharmed, his face was much paler than Clara was used to seeing. She watched as his eyes scanned around the room, the movements quick and calculating – until they landed on Clara. As their eyes met, the Doctor's shoulders seemed to relax.

Clara couldn't help but feel the same.

"So," the Doctor said loudly, turning to the guards. "This is the bioweapon? A bed?"

"These are your associates?" the guard only asked, jerking his chin at Clara and Danny.

"_You're _a smart one – _you _put it together," the Doctor replied dryly. As he said this, there was a slight movement of his hand. Clara narrowed her eyes to see the Doctor's wrists, which were tangled up in handcuffs. She could see his hands still wriggling – and once realizing what he was going to do, Clara cringed. A scientist caught notice of her and pinned her down with a suspicious look – Clara tried to cover up the cringe with a cough.

"Dusty in here," she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. "Really, you might want to try for a better cleaning job."

The scientist rolled her eyes, turning back around and mumbling something that vaguely sounded like "stupid morons".

Clara wasn't even insulted by that comment. As all of the attention was drawn back to the Doctor, she slipped back a few steps to where Danny was standing. He, unlike Clara and the Doctor, was completely still, his eyes trained warily on the other scientists and guards.

"Danny," Clara whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "How do you deactivate the thing?"

"Don't you know from your files?" Danny breathed back.

"Obviously not!" Clara hissed, and though she tried to keep her voice down, there was no point in hiding the annoyance in her words. "In case you didn't notice, most of our plans seemed to have been tossed out the window." Clara could see from Danny's expression that he was beginning to wonder the validity of the whole operation – and not for the first time, Clara could understand where he was coming from. (But that didn't change the fact that they really _did _have to hurry.)

"Underneath the bed," Danny whispered. "There should be a few vials – insert one of them into the springs –"

"Are we still talking about a bed or an actual living _thing_?" Clara asked incredulously.

"I wouldn't know," Danny replied. "Just that the details are all covered over – but I know that's how you should be able to get rid of it permanently." At Clara's still troubled look, he added, "There were some people who were nervous about what would happen if the weapon got out of hand."

"Thank God for that," Clara muttered, looking back up at the Doctor. She had the feeling he had been watching her all this time, though not once did he let his eyes fall back on her again.

Clara tried to call up for what courage she had left.

_One, two, three… _

She dove under the bed.

* * *

**A/N - **No joke, I thought I was going to extend this chapter to become much longer, but once I wrote that last sentence, I thought this was a good place to end the chapter.

Reviews would be great! Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not! (And please, please, please review - reviews are what motivate me to write faster.)


	13. The Only Things that Kept Them Close

Hey, look - I've updated at a consistent-enough time. That's new. (Actually, I wrote this right after seeing _Heaven Sent_. Allow me to drown in tears.)

Would you guys believe it if I said that my English teacher is making us write an essay on comparing a fictional character to the Hero's Journey? (The Hero's Journey, for those of you who don't know, is a model made by a guy named Joseph Campbell - otherwise known as the monomyth.) And guess who's choosing to write about Clara Oswald? _This _girl! (To be honest, I think it's well-deserved, seeing we all need the Clara Oswald closure.)

Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter Thirteen. The Only Things that Kept Them Close _

Hell broke out the minute Clara pushed the needle in.

There were loud cries from all around, and then Clara was being yanked up from underneath the bed. She felt her head smash against the bedframe, and unable to make any other sound, she only allowed herself to be dragged up to her feet. Clara opened her eyes just in time to see a fist coming her way.

A dull pain bloomed at the side of Clara's face. She grunted on impact, falling back against the bed as another fist came her way. This time, she rolled over just on time. Her head spinning, she pushed herself off the bed and looked down at the guard who had been about to hit her.

Without even waiting for a second, Clara grabbed the guard's arm and tugged it back, only dully registering the guard's shrill scream a moment later. She heard a slight rattling sound – and then Clara ducked as another guard only barely missed tasering her.

Clara looked over her shoulder again, this time to take a better sweep of what other chaos she was missing out on.

Danny was holding out on his own, smashing his binder against the heads of other brave scientists and guards who thought it'd be a good idea to go against him. He was ruthless, kicking away anyone who dared to come near him. He moved with fluidity and grace, almost as though he had gone through these motions before. Clara didn't need to worry about him – which was a good thing.

She turned around to look at the Doctor, who was a different story.

He didn't lash out, for one thing. He avoided any punches or kicks aimed at him, only successfully having guards knock each other out whenever they missed him. He was making good work, too, until –

Clara was too far away to do anything. His name was already halfway across her lips when a guard shoved the Doctor to the ground.

"Danny! We have to move!" Clara shouted over her shoulder.

"You think?" Danny yelled back, but the sound of feet running across the ground already told Clara that he had taken her words seriously. Clara turned back to the Doctor to see his head tilted back, his eyes struggling to remain open as the guard clenched his hand into a tight fist again –

Clara didn't process the consequences of her next actions as she dove into the guard.

Sheer force in addition to rage was, Clara realized, always an advantage to use in fights.

There was a sharp cry from the guard as he hit the ground. Clara stood above him, and with one, swift kick to the head, the guard fell back, his whole body limp and his eyes closed.

"He's not dead," Clara muttered under her breath. She looked down at the Doctor, who was groggily sitting up. Without another word, Clara dove forward and tugged the Doctor to his feet. She swung one of his arms around her shoulder and turned to see Danny standing at the Doctor's other side.

"Know any quick way to get to the extraction team?" Danny asked, taking on the Doctor's other arm.

"Outside the East Wing," Clara grunted, trying to hold up the Doctor's weight from her own end. The Doctor, as gangly as he looked, was _much _heavier than she had originally anticipated. She pressed a hand against the Doctor's chest to keep him from toppling to the ground. She heard a soft sound of protest coming from the Doctor, and Clara only whispered back, "I'm sorry – I really am – but I'm scared I might accidentally drop you."

The Doctor's head only dropped own a little. Clara grunted again, trying hard not to let her grip loosen. She turned to Danny, asking helplessly, "Do you know the fastest way out of here?"

"This is a mess – you realize that, don't you?" Danny asked, though he tugged the Doctor out of the room with Clara.

"Don't remind me," Clara replied. "Trust me, Danny, if we get out of this alright, I owe you a favor."

"I'll hold you to that, you know," Danny grunted. He pointed a finger down the corridor. "We've got to keep going out that way – it should lead us to the parking lot. And that, I assume, should be where our friends could spot us."

"They'll have the helicopter down in five," Clara responded. She readjusted her grip on the Doctor and the three stormed forward. Clara's feet started to stumble each other halfway to the door, but she didn't care. The Doctor seemed to be getting heavier and heavier under her arms, and the fact that Danny was tired didn't seem to help either.

"Come on," Clara gritted out of her teeth. "Come _on, Doctor._"

The door was suddenly shoved open, and Clara felt the rush of winter wind slice at her skin. She still trudged on, feeling the sting of her hair whip into her eyes. And almost instantly, she heard the deafening beating of a helicopter above her. She heard shouting all around her again – and then there were arms pushing her forward.

"Clara," the Doctor was saying, his breathing ragged. "Go. _Move_."

Clara felt her shins smash against the helicopter door – and again, the Doctor started to push her inside. Still, as she toppled into one of the seats, she kept one hand wrapped tightly around the Doctor's arm. She didn't bother letting go until the Doctor was seated next to her.

…and as the helicopter beat around her, Clara sank into blackness, relieved that it was all over.

xXx

Clara and the Doctor must have looked especially beaten down, because Vastra didn't even bother looking for an instant debriefing session. Instead, she only told them to "go home and get some rest". Clara had obliged without questioning it.

She was about to head out of her office when she found the Doctor leaning against his own door, his eyes closed. One of his hands was cupped over the side of his head, the other resting against the door. Clara didn't even bother saying anything – she just tugged the Doctor's arm, and he turned to look down at her.

"Come on," she said quietly. "We're going to have to get you fixed up."

"I can…do that later," the Doctor replied. His words were sleepy; every moment of silence in between felt like a possibility to nod off. Clara wouldn't let that happen now. She took the Doctor's arm again, saying, "You really can't. You can hardly stand up by yourself."

"I can…" the Doctor murmured, and as though he was trying to prove it, he pushed himself off the door – only to almost crash instantly into Clara's side. Letting out a surprised squeak, Clara stuck out an arm in front of her to support herself so she wouldn't fall down (and bring the Doctor down with her).

"Sorry," Clara heard the Doctor say instantly. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Clara managed to reply. She looked up at the Doctor, who was rubbing his brow. "Come on," she repeated. "You'll feel better if you get some sleep…and I want to look at that cut on your forehead."

"Cut?" the Doctor's brow furrowed.

Clara gestured at the Doctor's forehead. "It's small," she added, "but I think it'd be a good idea to get it cleaned up anyways."

"You're one to talk," the Doctor said slowly. He tapped the side of Clara's face. The gesture would have been funny – or maybe even sweet – if the Doctor didn't sound half-asleep. "You've got bruises."

"That's what we get from a hard day of work," Clara replied. She stood on the tips of her toes, looking at the Doctor's cut again. "I think we should get going now, yeah?"

The Doctor only nodded his head.

With that, Clara started down the hallway. She let the Doctor lean against her again – and the two managed to head to the elevator without either of them accidentally tripping over anything. Hailing a cab was a bit harder for Clara to do, but finally, a driver took pity and stopped for the two of them.

By the time Clara was standing in front of her apartment room, the Doctor was awake enough to ask, "Is this…your place?"

"Yeah," Clara responded. She shot the Doctor a sidelong glance. "I don't know where you live, anyways." She walked forward, pushing open the door.

Instantly, Clara was welcomed by the sight of her home. She swung the door shut behind herself and managed to bring the Doctor over to the couch. The Doctor sank into it almost automatically, his eyes closing and his breaths evening out. Clara took this time to take off her coat – take off her shoes – and she tugged off the Doctor's shoes for good measure, placing them by the door.

Afterwards, Clara ducked into her bathroom to find the proper tools.

She returned with a bowl of water, a tube of cream, and a few bandages. Clara sat down in front of the Doctor, first dabbing water over the Doctor's cut. The Doctor's eyes snapped open this time, quick to make contact with Clara's.

"Does this hurt?" Clara asked at last, popping open the tube of cream.

"No," the Doctor replied. He pointed a finger up at Clara's face. "Does _that?_"

"Don't know yet," Clara responded. She spread the cream over the Doctor's cut, and after another second, she was placing a bandage carefully over the area. Clara sat back on her heels, gathering up her materials again. "I assume it'll hurt like hell tomorrow," she said casually, "but I'll just…put a bag of peas over it. Or something."

She ducked back into the bathroom, putting her things back into the cabinet – and when she walked back out, she found the Doctor in her kitchen, looking through her fridge.

Clara stopped short. Crossing her arms over her chest, she called after him, "You know, if you were hungry, you could have just said so."

The Doctor shook his head. "Not for me," he replied. He grabbed something from inside – and a moment later, he was walking briskly towards Clara, holding a –

"Bag of peas," Clara said, shaking her head. She took it from the Doctor, trying not to smile. "Nice to see that you care."

"Whoever said I didn't?"

Clara shook her head again. She shut the fridge door and looked up at the Doctor. "You should stay here for tonight," she said, pulling the bag of peas up to her face. She winced, feeling the muscles in her face already loosen from the cold. The stinging sensation persisted, but Clara still held the bag up. "You're tired, and I still don't know if it's a good idea for you to bump around the streets."

"Yes, ma'am."

Clara looked up at the Doctor's face, wondering if he had been sarcastic this time – only to find that there was nothing of the sort in the Doctor's eyes. He was already drifting back to the couch, his movements slow and worn down.

Clara moved silently back into her bedroom. She knew she had a few extra blankets…

She tugged off the duvet – and then the comforter – and walked back into the living room. The Doctor was still on the couch, one arm resting against his eyes and the other pressed flat against his stomach. Clara felt a slight smile tug at her lips as she settled the blankets over him.

The Doctor's eyes snapped open in surprise. He sat up, the look on his face bewildered as Clara wordlessly spread the blankets over him.

"What about you?" the Doctor asked, frowning.

"I've got other blankets," Clara answered, tugging the duvet over the couch. "I'll be fine." She stood back, admiring her own handiwork. "There," she said decidedly. "If you need anything else, just give me a shout. I'll be in the other room."

She started to leave, but before she could, the Doctor called, "Clara."

Clara sat down on the coffee table. "Mm?"

The Doctor was quiet. "You should…take care of the bruises." He lifted a hand, his fingers only lightly brushing against the side of Clara's face. Clara felt something warm shoot up her cheeks – and it had nothing to do with the bruises. She lowered her eyes, repeating softly, "I'll be fine."

"I know you will," the Doctor said. "I only believe…it'd be a better idea for you to…" His voice drifted.

Clara braved herself to crouch down by the Doctor. "Yeah?" she asked, her voice lowering. She swallowed. "Doctor."

"Clara."

"We're tired," Clara said slowly. "We've both…had a long day."

"Yes."

The Doctor's fingers were still bumping against Clara's cheek. Clara was still staring at the Doctor. She never knew how to describe his eyes – there were days when they looked grey, and other times, they looked blue. Deep blue, whenever he wore a darker shirt – and then it'd be a lighter, paler shade of blue whenever he wore a different shirt…they weren't exactly summer-sky colored, either. Autumn-sky colored, maybe. Or winter-sky colored. And a hint of a hurricane. Of wind, maybe.

Whatever the color it was, Clara could find herself being reflected through the hurricane. She could see how close she was – they were only a few breaths away. (Literally. Clara could probably puff out a breath and the Doctor would feel it. Not that she would do that.)

"Tired," Clara repeated. She found herself leaning into the Doctor's hand now, welcoming his warmth freely. "Long…day." She felt the Doctor's hand cup slightly over her cheek – it wasn't just touching her cheek now. It was holding the side of her face – holding _her_.

"Clara," the Doctor repeated. His voice was softer than ever. He propped himself a little bit by the elbows – and that was the only signal either of them needed.

It was their noses that brushed against each other first.

And then their breaths. (Breaths apart.)

Clara reached up and rested a hand against the Doctor's face. She hesitated – felt the Doctor hesitate, too – and then they were both leaning forward, lips just barely brushing against each other.

The first touch was what got them both going.

Clara nudged herself forward, pressing in another kiss against the Doctor's lips. She felt the Doctor do the same, his forehead resting against Clara's as he drew her in –

"Clara," the Doctor whispered hoarsely. "What did you do to me?"

"I was about to ask the same thing," Clara whispered back. She paused. And then she was leaning forward again, tugging lightly at the Doctor's bottom lip. He didn't hold back. The Doctor surged a little from his position on the couch, one arm wrapping around Clara's lower back, inviting her to hop up.

Which is what Clara did.

She hoisted herself onto the couch, her legs straddled over the Doctor and her head bent low over him. Her hair fell over the sides of her face, shieling them from what other invisible dangers the world had to offer. She used her arms to support herself as she took the rest of the Doctor in. The Doctor only barely lifted his chin, giving Clara more room –

Clara's lips were numbing – and she knew the Doctor's were, too, but she didn't care. She wanted to stay like this – _wanted _this –

She sat up and looked down at the Doctor.

He was staring straight up at her, his hand resting on her arm.

"I should get some sleep now," Clara finally said.

The Doctor nodded wordlessly.

Clara swung her legs off the Doctor and she dropped down from the couch. She walked for her bedroom – paused at the doorframe – but before she could look back, she walked inside.

xXx

_(The first time Clara ever kissed John, it was to shut him up. He wouldn't stop talking on and on and on about something. Clara wasn't even really paying attention to what he was saying – all she knew was that she needed him to quiet down from whatever he was talking about. _

_The kiss had been brief, with Clara tugging John towards herself by the collar. John protested at first, an odd squeaking sound coming from his lips – but then he was leaning in, his hands reaching up to cup Clara's cheeks._

_And it might have been a stupid idea – it was probably the stupidest idea Clara had ever come up with in the history of her own stupid ideas – _

_But it was worth it.) _

Clara opened her eyes.

_No nightmares. _

Clara dug herself deeper under the blankets, her eyes focused on the white ceiling above her. She could hear her breaths evening out as the seconds ticked by. Her lips still felt numb – her whole face still felt warm.

Clara slipped out of her bed. She was wearing nothing but her usual sleeping tank top and a pair of pajama bottoms – but even then, Clara felt oddly undressed as she padded out of her bedroom.

Moving quietly and carefully, Clara walked into the kitchen section of the apartment. The Doctor was still sleeping, half of his face buried into a pillow and the other tilted towards the ceiling. Clara noticed with some interest that he slept on his side. (She had pinned him down to be a soldier sleeper. Oh, well.)

Clara didn't want to wake the Doctor up right away – so she worked as gingerly as possible.

She took out a few eggs, cracking them lightly over a pan. The soft sizzling of eggs on oil filled the apartment later, and Clara figured that this would be the quietest she'd ever be while making breakfast.

_Breakfast, _Clara thought, casting the Doctor another look. She felt heat shoot up her face again, and though the Doctor had not yet waken, she could still hear him laughing into her ears. Clara tried her best to focus on the eggs instead.

By the time the Doctor woke up, she was already dishing servings out on the plates.

"Clara," the Doctor murmured sleepily from the couch. "You –"

"I was up twenty minutes ago," Clara replied briskly. She grabbed forks and brought the plates over to the coffee table. She sat down on the floor and handed the Doctor's plate over to him. He took it with a nod, and then the two were eating silently.

Clara tried not to look at the Doctor as she ate. She kept her eyes trained down on her plate, chewing and swallowing without too much of a thought. The tension between them was thick, though – thick enough that Clara felt she could stab through it with her fork. (Which probably wouldn't be too wise.)

"We'll have to go to the office today," Clara said, scooting her plate back on the coffee table. "You should go to your apartment and get your clothes." She flicked her eyes at the Doctor, adding awkwardly, "Wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea."

"Of course," the Doctor agreed, his words almost automatic-sounding. He stood up and placed the plates in the sink. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Clara replied tersely. She stood up, gathering the duvet and the comforter from the couch. Quickly, she headed for her bedroom and threw the blankets on her bed. She'd have to clean it up later. She cast a look at her closet. She'd have to choose her clothes out later…

When Clara re-emerged from her bedroom, the Doctor was already taking his coat. He swung it over his shoulders, looking over at Clara.

"You'll be on your way, then," Clara said, letting her arms drop to her sides. "And you'll be careful?"

"Always."

Clara nodded once. "Fine," she murmured and started to walk for the door. She placed one hand on the doorknob and was about to turn it when she looked up at the Doctor again. He was waiting expectantly, his head resting against the wall. His eyes lowered to meet Clara's.

He was leaning towards her before she even knew it.

But the Doctor was kissing her again, his lips surprisingly softer than Clara had anticipated. She let in a sharp, shuddery breath as the Doctor bent down to let his lips travel around the side of her face –

Clara let her hand fall away from the doorknob. Her arms looped around the Doctor's neck. She was dragging him down now, and he didn't even seem to care. Clara could hear his breaths brushing against the side of her neck – her shoulders…

Clara hoisted herself up, her legs twining around the Doctor's lower back. She was breathing hard, even though the action alone hadn't required too much energy.

"Where?" the Doctor whispered, his voice rough.

"Couch," Clara replied breathlessly.

The Doctor didn't even hesitate. He carried her to the couch, and then the two were crashing against the cushions again. Clara found herself siting above the Doctor like she had last night – only this time, her lips were faster – her hands were roaming up the Doctor's shirt, gripping onto the fabric so hard that it'd crease for sure.

Before Clara could do anything else, the Doctor paused.

"Do you want to?" he whispered.

Clara felt a small rush of exhilaration. She planted another kiss over the Doctor's lips.

"Yes."

xXx

Clara was grateful that the walls of her apartment were soundproof. It wasn't that either of them were too loud – but there were definite moments when Clara thought that the whole world could hear them. The gasping – the unattractive grunts – the names whispered every so often –

By the time they were done, the Doctor really _did _have to get new clothes.

xXx

There was only one person in the elevator.

"Doctor."

"Clara."

Clara walked into the elevator, ruffling her hair so that the rest of the shower water wouldn't be as obvious. She took one look at the Doctor and asked as casually as she could, "New outfit?"

The Doctor's eyes flashed under the elevator lights. "Something like that."

The corner of Clara's lips twitched into a dangerous smile as she turned back around to face the elevator lips. When the doors opened, she walked in without giving the Doctor a second glance.

"Doctor, Clara," Rose greeted from the desk. "Vastra said that you two should get ready for a debriefing."

"Thanks, Rose," Clara replied. She cast a glance at the Doctor, who only gave her a slight nod. Clara turned back around and headed down the hallway. She heard the Doctor's footsteps after her, though the two didn't bother talking to each other. They remained to head down to Vastra in silence.

xXx

"Thanks to you two, Danny Pink was able to come home safely," Vastra said, clasping her hands together. "And there weren't any serious casualties, thankfully." Vastra shut her file. "The fact that you two were able to adapt to newer, unknown territory without struggle shows that you've been able to mature as a partnership." Something glimmered in Vastra's eyes – pride. "Well done."

"Thank you," the Doctor and Clara said at once.

Vastra smiled. "Until next time, then," she replied, standing up.

Clara and the Doctor both stood. They shook hands – and then the two were walking out of Vastra's office. They stood by each other, their shoulders only a few inches apart.

"I'll be in my office," they said together.

* * *

**A/N - **(*frantically pretending that _Last Christmas _isn't currently playing on the radio* I'm fine. Mmhm. I'm totally fine.)

As always, reviews would be appreciated! More reviews means more motivation, so it's a very important part of writing. Constructive criticism is allowed, but flames are not.


	14. People Pulled at Them

I'm back with another chapter! I've been struggling with writing over the past week or so, but since winter break is finally here, I was able to whip this up. (After working on it for the _whole day, honestly_.) Last night, I also got to watch _The Force Awakens_ \- which, by the way, was pretty awesome. Even if you don't like _Star Wars, _I would highly recommend watching it. Great characters, an interesting villain, and a plot which is classic to the science-fiction genre.

Oh, and who else is going to watch the _Doctor Who _Christmas special? (My heart is still broken over Clara and the Doctor, but I _do _love River Song quite a lot...I might forever ship Whouffaldi, but I think it'd be interesting to see what River and Twelve's interaction might be. I'm hoping for something along the lines of buddy-cop.)

Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter Fourteen. People Pulled at Them _

There was something dripping in her office.

She wasn't sure what it was, but she didn't mind it too much. She knew that a slight leak in her office was the least of her worries for now. If anything, it kept Clara busy – it provided a steady drive as she went through her computer, looking for anything – _anything _– to do.

_("Ah! Clara, you're here!" John grinned, his hands dropping to his hips. A moment later, they were swinging limply at his sides, and moving again to his hair. "I brought in some filing work. Some idiot got the mission files all mixed up in the computers again – so it's going to be one of those days." _

_Clara only dropped her bag on the chair. "Why're you talking like that?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. _

_"Talking like what?" _

_"Like you – multiplied by a thousand." _

_"I'm not talking like me multiplied by a thousand. Can you even do that? A cloning machine, maybe, could do the works, but can you just imagine what would happen if you had a thousand of John Smith walking around? How terrible would that be? I mean, regardless, it'd be a rather interesting afternoon, but – ah, okay, you're stepping closer." John's voice cracked a little as Clara stood at the tips of her toes. She could feel a smile twitching at the corners of her lips, though she wouldn't allow herself to smile completely in front of John just yet. _

_"Does this have something to do with the fact that I kissed you yesterday?" Clara asked, purposely making her voice as light (and as teasing) as possible. _

_John's breath sounded like a squeak to Clara's ears. "I…" His hands reached up to his bowtie, twisting and untwisting it in a frantic, out-of-control motion. Which, Clara knew, was fairly normal for him – but right now, his hands seemed to be more frantic and out-of-control than usual. _

_"Clara," he started again. _

_"John," Clara replied. "Is this about the kiss or not?" _

_"You _kissed _me." _

_"So I did." _

_"And I kissed you _back_." _

_"Mm-hm, that part I remember." _

_For a moment, John just stared at Clara in shock – and then a wide grin spread across his face. Clapping a hand over his lips, he shook his head and took a few steps back. _

_This time, Clara grinned. "Am I supposed to be happy now?" _

_John turned to look at Clara, his eyes bright. "I…" His hand dropped away from his lips. He walked up to Clara. "You – and I – we're not supposed to –"_

_"Because work, I know," Clara interrupted. She sat down in her chair, opening up her bag. Lightening her tone, she added, "But outside of work…well. It's not like we're technically working all the time, are we?" She heard John laugh a little – and then he was sitting down beside her, wearing a ridiculous grin. _

_"Clara?" he asked at last. _

_"Yes, John?" _

_"I think I rather liked that kiss." _

_"I think I rather liked it, too.") _

Clara couldn't help herself. The dripping in her office only kept her busy for so long – and too quickly did her mind start to wander to what happened last night. (Or this morning. Whichever. Both. Everything.) She could feel that her lips were still swollen. Almost automatically, Clara poked out her tongue and ran it lightly over her lower lip. Her lips felt soft and numb, even to herself, and had so obviously been kissed.

She wasn't bothered by what actually happened. She didn't mind it. She had, if anything, c_raved _it. She had been completely aware of what she was doing to herself – what she was doing to _him_, for that matter…

But God, she was doing it _again. _

It was with the Doctor – a man who was old enough to be her father (though he certainly never _acted _like a fatherly figure) and had a ridiculous Scottish accent and had started off looking so cold and untouchable. Only again, it was with the _Doctor_ – a man who took walks in the graveyard and offered lunch in the local deli and made stupid puns and had been looking for a bag of peas for her face.

It might have just been adrenaline. It probably _was _just adrenaline. And they wouldn't speak about it ever again. They'd go on their normal way, acting as though nothing ever happened between them.

Clara needed to act like things were normal. _She _would have to do so – she wouldn't wait around for the Doctor to make the first move in terms of where this situation was going to go. If she pretended that everything was normal, there was a chance (however low it may be) that he would pass this off as normal as well.

It was worth a shot.

Once her phone was nestled neatly in her hands, Clara tapped in a quick message – _lunch at the deli today? _

She didn't get an answer right away, and she hadn't expected to. Still, Clara felt satisfaction settle over her as she dropped her phone back on her desk. She spun around to the computer again, reaching over to delete some extra files. She still had work to do, after all.

Clara answered a few emails – corrected a few reports – and was starting to take a better look at the dripping job in her office when the door swung open.

"Took you long enough to reply," Clara said, looking over her shoulder. "Did you lose your phone?"

The Doctor only gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. "It's been a long day," he replied briefly. "I thought you'd know my answer, anyways." At that, Clara slipped down from her chair and grabbed her jacket.

"Well," she said loftily, "you guessed right." She reached across her desk to take her phone, but before either of them could leave, Clara felt the Doctor move past her and walk up to the corner of the office.

"There's a leak," the Doctor observed.

"Yeah," Clara replied, swinging her jacket over her shoulders. "I'm going to get someone to fix it up later." She wrapped one hand over the door handle, and then, turning around again, she frowned. "_Doctor,_" she started to ask with forced patience, "what exactly are you _doing?_"

The Doctor was standing on top of Clara's chair, keeping remarkable balance as he examined the ceiling. He pressed a finger against the wet surface, his eyes narrowing at the damage. "It's always a good idea to see how bad this is," he said over his shoulder. "I had a friend who let a leak on for too long – and the next day, he arrived to seeing his whole basement flooded. Wasn't a pretty sight."

"You have friends?" Clara asked dryly, though it was only a halfhearted attempt at humor. The Doctor didn't seem to notice. He was still very much focused on the leak.

"You said you were going to call someone?" he asked, wiping his fingers on his trouser pants.

"While we were about to head out, yeah," Clara responded.

"Good idea."

"I know. That's because I came up with it."

"Ha, ha," the Doctor replied dryly. This time, Clara allowed herself a traitorous smile as the Doctor swung down from his chair. As he did so, his shirt lifted only a little bit, revealing the tiniest slip of stomach before he was walking towards the door.

Clara only let her eyes linger for a millisecond before taking up her phone. She knew that the Doctor hadn't noticed at all – she doubted he even knew that his shirt had been revealing his stomach – but still, she was extra careful to make herself seem as nonchalant as possible. Which she was.

_Nothing happened between us, _Clara was tempted to say as they stepped into the elevator. _Nothing at all. We're still partners. See? This is an extremely normal lunch together. _

The two didn't say anything on the way to the deli.

xXx

They ate in silence and didn't say much. Clara tried to pretend that she was engrossed with her sandwich, even though this was the same sandwich she always had. She also pretended that she was fascinated with her phone, even though she had run out of data to use. The Doctor was completely silent from across her, and every once in a while, the two would look at each other – only the moment their eyes would meet, they'd be back to staring down at their plates and pretending that the either didn't exist.

So it was fair to say that Clara Oswald's plan of normalcy was absolutely rubbish, and she was very much planning on throwing it out the window.

"Fine," she muttered, scooting her plate away from herself. Without warning, Clara leaned in quick and close to the Doctor – so close that her face was only breaths away from his forehead. And this might have just proven that Clara was being serious about her initiative – which was her goal – only the moment was ruined when the Doctor's head jerked up –

And his forehead smacked right against Clara's.

Both crying out in pain and surprise, the two sprang back. Clara rubbed her forehead furiously and looked up to see that the Doctor was doing the same, his thick eyebrows knitted together in the most knotted, ridiculous way possible.

"What was _that _for?" the Doctor asked ruefully.

"What was _that _for? _You _were the one who crashed your head into mine!" Clara replied, sounding just as annoyed as her partner. "Why'd you gotta move so fast, anyways? You caught me off-guard!"

"You caught me off-guard first! I didn't know you were right there, did I?"

"You should have!"

"You were quiet!"

"_Ow_," Clara said meaningfully, rubbing her forehead again. She scowled and, pushing herself back at the table, she added, "What I _meant _to do was name the elephant in the room."

The Doctor's face blanked. "What?"

"The elephant in the room, Doctor," Clara repeated, closing her eyes briefly. "Do you understand what I'm getting at?" When she re-opened her eyes, the Doctor looked just as confused as ever –only a moment later, realization dawned to his face. It was first surprise that took over his features – then it was worry – and lastly, it was…well, curiosity.

"And?" the Doctor asked.

"We need to draw a line," Clara said, putting her hands on the table. "And we need to make a plan. Now, was that something that we both just did for the hell of it, or was it something that you…?" Her voice drifted. She cleared her throat once, twice, and then, in a clearer tone, she added, "I don't have time to be in a serious relationship, Doctor."

"I didn't expect you would."

"Good – then we understand each other," Clara responded. She focused her eyes on the Doctor's face, daring him to look away. Only he didn't, because he was a stubborn bastard, and Clara was just as persistent as him.

"What now?" she asked at last.

"That depends," the Doctor replied, his voice quiet. "What do _you _want us to do?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly. That's why we're out here, isn't it?"

Clara looked past the Doctor's shoulder. She wasn't focusing on anything in particular, though she _could _see the beginnings of the early winter night settle in. And it was only three in the afternoon…

"It was a nice kiss," Clara said at last. "And it was also nice sex."

"…thank you. At least, I think so."

"That was a compliment."

"I would hope so."

Clara pressed her lips together. She was tiptoeing along some invisible line – she just knew it, but she _was _a field agent. Taking risks and tiptoeing along invisible lines was her specialty. She could hear the words forming in her head now, just waiting to take flight and have everything get done with.

"I don't want to ruin our work life," she said slowly, deliberately. To her ears, her words sounded like a white flag – a surrender flag. (Although it wasn't a surrender to the Doctor. It was a surrender to herself.) "I don't want to cross any boundaries that are too out of our reach."

The Doctor's face was unreadable. "Understood," he said, his eyes lowering to the table. Then, his chair scraping against the ground, he stood up. Clara watched as he wordlessly gathered his coat, took out his wallet – he paid the waitress (who had been circling around their table for a while now), and with a small nod in Clara's direction, he stood up and started for the door –

"Doctor?" Clara breathed, confused. When the Doctor didn't hear her, she stood up and grabbed her jacket. The Doctor was already out the diner, the only sound left behind the faint jingle of the bells hanging from the door.

Frantically, Clara shoved on her jacket. _Where did he think he was going? What's he doing? _

Clara didn't even care about how odd she must have looked as she stumbled out of the door. She stopped on the street, looking around quickly – and then her eyes found the Doctor walking across the street, his eyes staring straight ahead and hands tucked in his pockets.

_Why did he have to move so quickly? _Clara wondered exasperatedly to herself, but without even a moment of hesitation, she barreled down the street in her high heels. (And by some miracle, managed to run down without falling or tripping over herself. It was all due to practice.)

"_Doctor!_" Clara cried out at last.

The Doctor didn't stop walking. He turned his head around a little bit, and though his face was just as still as before, Clara could detect confusion flickering behind his eyes.

"Clara?" he asked, bewildered. "I thought you were –"

"When I said that I didn't want to ruin our work life, I meant it," Clara said, walking up to the Doctor. She was puffing a little right now, the cold stinging her cheeks and her nose and her lungs. The Doctor didn't seem to mind, although he slowed down a little bit. Clara still had to speed-walk to catch up to him – and when she did, she repeated, "I don't want to screw anything up – for the both of us."

"You've said that already," the Doctor replied, and though his words were clipped, his tone wasn't harsh. (Rather, it was official. Quick.)

"I _know,_" Clara replied. She grabbed the Doctor's coat sleeve. "Will you just stop walking for a _minute?_"

That caught the Doctor's attention. He came to a stop and turned around, fully facing Clara expectantly.

"When I said that I didn't want to ruin our work lives," Clara started again, "I was meaning that we shouldn't…talk about _this_." She gestured at the space between the Doctor and her. "At least, we shouldn't talk about it when we're actually working – keep things friendly…well, friendly _enough, _anyways…" Her voice drifted. The Doctor was still staring down at her. And today, Clara realized, his eyes looked more silver-colored than blue. Not the molten, starling silver, of course – but a different kind of shade – maybe the type of color that Clara would find in the frost sitting on her windowsill.

"Anyways," Clara repeated, her voice lowering. "Besides the working, I think there's a…slight chance that _this _doesn't have to end. Not now. Not right away." She blew out a breath. "As long as we keep the lines clear. And as long as _we're _clear about those lines. Unless you don't want this – in which case, we can all pretend that this never happened. Those are my terms."

"Your terms?" the Doctor asked.

Clara flushed. "I couldn't think of any other word," she replied.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. Clara tried to remain as still as possible, though it was hard to – the cold was _really _beginning to settle in, and there were people constantly weaving in and out of the streets. The Doctor, on the other hand, didn't have any trouble looking like a statue. His hands were still in his pockets, and his eyes were still focused on Clara's face.

At last, Clara asked, "Doctor?" She let out a nervous laugh. "Are you ever going to respond? Come on, don't leave me hanging."

The Doctor blinked, and just like that, the rest of his body seemed to unthaw. His hands removed themselves from his coat and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. "You said…outside of work," he said slowly.

"Yes."

"And we're clear about the lines?"

"Also yes."

"…does this count as outside of work?"

"Technically, yes."

The Doctor paused. And then, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest and sweetest of smiles, he took Clara's hand. Clara felt her heart skip a beat as she watched him lift the hand up to his lips. He brushed a slight kiss on it before dropping it back to Clara's side. And Clara could only stare.

"What was that for?" Clara asked.

"That," the Doctor replied, "was the first step."

xXx

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"You _look _like you're fine," Amelia said not unkindly as Clara sat down in front of the gravestone. "Did something good happen?"

It had only been a week and a half since Clara and the Doctor had made their pact. There were a few more kisses – tentative, to say the least…none of them had been desperate, and they hadn't bothered to have sex again – and sometimes, Clara would allow herself to go on an outing with the Doctor. But for the most part, not all much had changed – there was the occasional _see you tomorrow _or the _do you want to eat somewhere else?_ texts, but beside all that, Clara thought that there was nothing else to it.

"Just some better stuff happening at work," Clara replied easily. "And it comes with the season. Holidays are coming around the corner."

"That's right," Amelia said, her face brightening for a moment. "Rory and I are thinking of hosting a holiday party – just with a few friends and maybe a few other agents who might not have a family to return to – would you like to come?"

Clara smiled. Despite all their time together, Clara hadn't known Amelia as well as she should have – but it felt good to see Amelia starting to open up a little more, too. (Maybe something good had happened to her as well.)

"Sure," Clara responded, and she genuinely meant it. "I'd like that."

* * *

**A/N - **As always, reviews would be fantastic! Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not!

Happy holidays!


	15. The Whispers Turned into Screams

And I'm back! I had to crawl myself out of bed (I haven't been feeling too hot, sadly...though it was a great excuse to lay back and do nothing but read and watch _Sense8 _all afternoon) to write this, but I wrote it.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter Fifteen. The Whispers Turned into Screams _

"I'm putting you two back on the case."

Clara and the Doctor's heads jolted up at the same time. Clara stared up at Vastra, her lips slightly parted and her eyebrows furrowed in surprise. She didn't dare look at the Doctor as she asked, "You're putting us back on the Christopher Nelson case? The one with the mole killing all of the other agents?"

"Follow up the lead on Missy Saxon," Vastra only replied. "There's been some new information being shed about where she's been and what she's been up to. There might be some connection between her and the rest of the murders, though it's unclear what it is exactly. It wasn't a coincidence that Missy invited you two to some dinner party – the same one Nelson was in."

"And you know this for sure?" the Doctor asked.

"Of course I don't," Vastra responded. "But that's all of the fun in the game. You'll need to investigate further." She lowered her lashes at the two agents. "I've noticed that you two have become much more cooperative and successful in your last operations together. After this realization, I've decided that it was high time to put you back to where you started – it's only fitting that you would tie this case back together without a fuss – and this time, without any personal ambition or drivel. Is that clear?"

"Clear," Clara and the Doctor chorused.

Vastra's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Good," she said, sitting down at her desk. "Come back with any information you might have. It's good to see that this partnership is working out just the way it should have been long ago." This was a mix of both a praise and an insult – though Clara decided to focus more on the praise part of the statement. She bobbed her head in a slight nod, and with the Doctor taking suit, they walked out of the office.

"Back on the case, then," Clara said, turning slightly to the Doctor.

"Back on the case," the Doctor replied. "And back to the glorious doom of shifting through piles of evidence and papers."

"You almost sound excited."

"This isn't my excited face, Clara."

"Thank God. I know _exactly _what your excited face looks like." Clara tried to keep a straight face while she said that – and for a second, it worked. The Doctor nodded listlessly before coming to the realization of what she had just said. Eyebrows shooting up and the faintest bit of color flushing out his cheeks, the Doctor lightly pinched Clara's arm.

"I thought you said not in the workplace!" the Doctor protested quietly.

"That was payback for that time you thought it'd be a good idea to show up in my office with a bag of _condoms_," Clara replied humorously.

"Well, you asked for them to be delivered to you –"

"But not to my _office_," Clara snorted. She cleared her throat, straightening her jacket. "But anyways, back to work-mode."

"Back to work-mode," the Doctor agreed, turning around. However, before he could head to his office, Clara just barely caught him by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Hang on just a moment," she said quickly. She let go once the Doctor turned to look at her. In her steadiest, most even voice possible, Clara added, "Before we go fully into work-mode, there's something – well, Amelia Pond; you know her, don't you? – she invited me to a holiday party, and I was wondering if you'd like to come along, too." She paused. "Amelia said it was just a small gathering of other agents, anyways. You know. Super casual." (Clara was trying to make her words sound casual, too, though she doubted she was pulling it off.)

The Doctor's brow furrowed. "Holiday party?" he asked.

"Yeah," Clara responded. "It'll probably be a little thing – have a few drinks at Amelia and Rory's place, maybe goof off to some cheesy Christmas carols. Maybe feed off of terribly sweet cookies and laugh at ugly sweaters and the like." She was prattling off now, but she didn't care. With a start, Clara realized that she actually _wanted _the Doctor to come. She wasn't sure how he'd fit into this – she wasn't sure if inviting him was the best of ideas – but the words were already out of her mouth, and Clara wasn't going to back down now.

As though the Doctor had read her mind, he asked, "Do you want me to come? Or is this just a formality?"

"I don't know," Clara fibbed. "I mean – do _you _want to come? Do you have time for it? I know that we've just been given this chance to work back on the case, but I was considering that maybe…well. A little celebration for the holidays can't hurt, can it? Not too badly, anyways?" Clara caught her voice lilting a little in hope – and this time, she felt heat rushing up her cheeks. She felt like a sixth-form student again, bashful and wishing to catch the attention of any girl or boy she had the eye for.

Only she wasn't a sixth-form student, and this wasn't just playful flirting.

"Do you want me to come?" the Doctor asked again, this time with a frown. "Because if you don't want me to –"

"No," Clara interrupted, and she surprised even herself at how quickly the word slipped out of her mouth. Taking in a deep breath, she repeated, "_No. _I want you to come. Really, I do." She let the faintest of smiles flicker over her lips. "It'd be nice, I think. And fun. We could probably get a few laughs out of it."

"Amelia – and your other friends, as a matter of fact – hardly know me," the Doctor pointed out. "Are you sure you'd be comfortable with that?"

"They'll get to know you," Clara responded easily. She let her hands clasp together, and without even realizing it, Clara was standing on the tips of her toes so she'd at least be a little more eye-level with the Doctor. "So will you come? Or do you have other plans?"

The Doctor's eyes skirted around Clara's face. Clara took notice of how they first met her eyes – then traced down to linger at her lips. And then they were back at her eyes again.

"I don't have any other plans," the Doctor said at last. "Just tell me more about it later, yeah?"

Clara grinned, settling back down on her feet. "Fine," she answered, trying to keep the happiness out of her voice. She gave the Doctor a small, friendly pat on the back before she started to head down the hallway. "Let work-mode commence!"

xXx

The phone-calls were long and tedious, but Clara finally got ahold of Missy Saxon, and it was almost as though Missy had been waiting for the call. For all Clara knew, maybe she had. Missy's voice was enthusiastic, too. "Good morning, Clara!" she trilled joyfully, and Clara could hear typing sounds in the background. "How're you? Long time, no…well, talk?"

"Missy," Clara responded, leaning away from her desk. "Were you expecting me to call?"

"I don't know, sister, you tell me," Missy answered. Clara heard her humming into the phone – she couldn't tell what song it was, but it was haunting through the crackly phone line. Clara felt shivers run up her spine, and not for the first time, she was glad that Missy couldn't see her. "I've spied a few naughty-looking agents scouting out my apartment. Care to tell me what that's about?"

"How were you able to see them?" Clara frowned. Their agents were supposed to be trained as the most discreet in the country – the fact that Missy had been able to even pick them up around her was beyond Clara.

"They're not as clever as they think they are," Missy replied, and this time, Clara could practically hear the smile in her voice. "It's a shame, really – I was hoping for a bit more fun. But _anyways, _I've got a dozen agents circling around my apartment, following me to the store, to the library – although, let's be honest, I don't ever bother returning the books – to the theater…tell me, do typical spy agents enjoy watching animated movies? Because there's a new one coming out that I would have rather enjoyed seeing."

Clara didn't know what to say. Taking in a deep breath, she tried, "I'm sorry for the discomfort –"

"Whoever said it was discomforting?"

Clara tried again. "I'm sorry for the discomfort, Missy," she repeated, "but there's been some news that you've been paying visits to Nelson's apartment after his death. We had to take precautions."

"All understood," Missy replied carelessly. "Though you must understand – he borrowed too much of my sugar."

Clara frowned. She had forgotten how eccentric Missy Saxon had been the last time they had met. Tightening her grip on the phone, Clara said, "The Doctor and I will be visiting your home in a few days, just to ask a few more questions."

"Ah, the Doctor?" Missy asked lightly, and though it might have just been her imagination, Clara thought she heard the slightest bit of interest in her voice. "Well, then. Fine – I'll be in the city for the next few weeks, and then…well, I'm a busy woman, Miss Oswald. I'm sure you know I've got lots and lots of business to do."

"I'm sure," Clara replied dryly. "I'll see you in a few days."

"Few days, sure," Missy responded. "Ta-ta!" With that, there was a click, signaling the end of the call. Clara frowned down at her phone for a solid two and a half minutes before putting it back down on her desk. She'd have to tell the Doctor to get ready to see Missy soon – God knew that both would need to brace themselves after their last unsuccessful visit.

Clara spent the rest of the afternoon looking over her notes. Her mind was spinning, and she was trying the hardest she could to put together the pieces of the mystery that lay out in front of her, though the process was just as dizzying as it had always been. Clara couldn't understand the nature behind the betrayal, nor could she find out what the motive was. All she knew was that Nelson was leaking some kind of information – but what, she couldn't tell.

"What were you up to?" Clara asked, tapping the picture of Nelson. She put the papers down and pushed her seat over to her computer. She was sure Christopher's profile was still up – it wouldn't have been deleted already, she was sure. (At least, she was hoping that it wouldn't have been removed. Not that that would be a problem, either. Clara knew her way around computers, and she had taught herself computer science ever since she was a young girl. Hacking would come easily if she couldn't find Nelson's profile the easy way.)

To her annoyance, Christopher Nelson's profile had indeed been erased, along with his email address and any information about his correspondence to other agents. Clara bit down on the inside of her cheek, hoping that she would bite down her frustration along with it.

No matter – this would only take a few more minutes. Twenty, tops.

Cracking her knuckles (and wincing – cracking knuckles, Clara had realized, was just a cliché present in action movies), Clara set to work. Soon, the only sounds in the office was the constant dripping from the leak (that _still _had to be fixed!) and her fingers tapping into the keyboard. She found it useful to keep a quiet environment while she worked – that way, she could only focus on the task at hand.

"Come on, Christopher Nelson," Clara muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning the computer screen. "Come out, come out, wherever you are…you can't hide from me forever. Who were you talking to? And who were you hoping to talk to?" The tricky thing about the world these days was that everything happened in emails and text messages. Now, Clara didn't know where Christopher Nelson's phone was, so that was all a lost cause in itself – but she was hoping that most of the correspondence with whomever Nelson was talking to would be over some online messaging system.

_But would he do it over his personal account in this facility? _

Clara suddenly stopped typing. She slumped back in her seat, doubt eating away at her chest. _Christopher Nelson, traitor or not, was someone who was a part of this agency, _Clara's mind continued to whisper. _He wouldn't have been stupid enough to message his associates over a system specifically monitored by the agency itself. He would have done it privately. _

Emails were too easy to hack into. Internet messaging systems themselves were too easy to hack into. So what option did that leave?

Clara's gaze fell on the pile of paperwork tucked away at the corner of her desk.

_Mail, _she thought, a wide grin spreading across her face.

xXx

Checking Nelson's apartment would have to come later, though, and Clara was planning on going there once the Doctor and she were finished talking to Missy. But for now, Clara had to get over another hurdle – and that was this holiday party that Amelia had decided to throw.

Clara smoothed out her dress in front of the mirror. It was old-fashioned, very much resembling the style of a flapper outfit. She wasn't sure how appropriate it would be for a holiday party, but it was plenty showy and plenty playful, with its hem blowing out around the lower parts of her thighs and knees. _Maybe it'd be the type of dress flappers wore to _their _holiday parties, _Clara thought decidedly as she colored her lips red. She caught herself smiling at her own reflection. So, maybe it wasn't the theme of the holiday party – but she was going to enjoy herself. It might be the last hurrah she might get before immersing herself completely into this case.

Clara smoothed out her dress again, this time letting her fingers linger at the decorative beads down its front. She wasn't sure where she had found it – it might have been from one of those extravagant trips that John sometimes took her on whenever they had a free weekend.

With a start, Clara let her hands drop to her sides. There was an abrupt kick to the chest – one that, for a moment, seemed to suck the breath out of Clara's lungs. She pressed a hand to her chest, right above where her heart would be. The pain had dulled – numbed – over the last few months, but why _now?_ Why was she remembering him _now? _

She'd always miss him. She _would. _God, she missed him every day, whether she notice it or not. She _had_. He had always come back in memories, even when she wasn't aware of it –

_("I'm not ever going to get rid of you, am I?" Clara asked one night, letting her fingers twine around John's hand. It was only eleven thirty – midnight would be coming soon – though Clara and John were both tired. It was a funny thing, too. Usually, they'd be able to stay awake until one or two in the morning, but tonight, a strange sense of drowsiness had took over them both. _

_"I certainly hope not," Clara heard John murmur in reply. Clara propped herself up on her elbows and looked down to see John's eyes half-shut, a lazy smile over his lips. His hair was flopped over half of his face in the most ridiculous, childish way possible. Clara pushed it aside and planted a quick kiss on his forehead. "I certainly hope not," John repeated again as Clara worked her lips down the side of his face. "Because you'd get bored." _

_"How can you be sure of that?" Clara asked teasingly. _

_"Because I know you, Clara Oswald."_

_Clara smiled in what she hoped was the most impish way possible. A clever response was already working out of her mouth –) _

"_Stop,_" Clara said out loud, glaring at her reflection. "That's not fair. That's not allowed. Not now, not ever. Not anymore." She gripped at the edges of the sink, trying to control her unsteady breathing. There was no reason to let this get into her head. She would _not _let it get into her head. Not tonight.

She'd always miss John. She'd miss how he called her to bed – she'd miss his strange obsession with bowties and Jammy Dodgers – she'd miss how his eyes always seemed to gleam brown and green at once – she'd miss how he'd sing in the shower in the early mornings – she'd miss how he kissed her on the forehead each evening – she'd miss how he would try to make something, only to blow it out with a towel – she'd miss how he wanted to go on spontaneous road trips –

Clara pushed herself away from the sink and looked at herself again. Her cheeks were red – and so were her eyes. (At least, a little bit. It was a fixable amount.) She pressed her hands lightly under her eyes – and took a deep breath.

There was a knock on her door.

Clara dropped her hands from her face and walked out of the bathroom. She grabbed her coat – and swung open the door to find the Doctor standing in front of her door, smiling in that wry way of his. He was wearing a suit – something sharp, something formal – something that, to Clara's surprise, matched quite well with her own dress.

And that calmed the rapid beating of her chest.

"Are we still doing this?" Clara asked, closing the door behind herself.

"I don't know – are we?"

Clara shrugged on her coat. "I think we are."

The Doctor only nodded, turning back to the hallway. It might have just been Clara's own nerves, but she was pretty sure the Doctor sounded just as faint as she felt when he repeated, "We are."

xXx

"Clara! Doctor!" Amelia, to Clara's relief, wasn't at all fazed by the Doctor coming. She gestured inside the house, the look on her face bright and casual. "Come in, come in!" Clara and the Doctor obliged, taking off their coats in the foyer – and Clara took the time to look at the holiday decorations in the house. She could see wreaths hung around the walls, lines of fairy lights, and the ever-distinct smell of pine and freshly-baked things.

"I'm sorry if my coming was a bit of a surprise," the Doctor said as Amelia took Clara's coat. "I wasn't sure if –"

Amelia waved off the rest of the Doctor's protest. "It's fine," she replied easily. "David's invited Rose, and Jack invited his boyfriend, and Martha invited her husband. I could do with less snogging in the house." She flashed a grin at Clara and the Doctor. "Honestly, Rory thought it was a good idea to hang up mistletoe all over the place. Jack's been having a field day with it, as you can imagine."

Amelia bounded down to the sitting room – and without looking at the Doctor, Clara followed.

"Clara!" Jack boomed from the corner of the room. True to Amelia's word, Clara's friend had an arm slung around a young man's shoulders. "Amy said you were coming – you're the last one here!"

"Yeah, got held up," Clara replied, sitting down on one of the couches. She shifted over a little and looked up at the Doctor expectantly. He hesitated, gave a quick nod to everyone else in the room, and sat down beside her. And even though Clara wasn't even touching the Doctor, she could sense the tension practically radiating off of him. This wasn't his scene – she knew – and feeling the slightest bit guilty, Clara brushed her pinky finger towards his hand. She felt the Doctor look over at her, and Clara allowed the corners of her lips to twitch into a smile to let him know that she knew.

"And you're the Doctor," Jack said. "I haven't seen you around these sorts of gatherings. What finally brought you out?"

"I convinced him to come," Clara replied for the Doctor. "Partners and all."

"Good thing, then?" Martha asked, her eyes shining. "You two argued all the time in the beginning."

Clara risked the quickest of glances at the Doctor, briefly wondering if she should answer or this or him. For a heart-stopping moment, neither of them spoke – until Amelia said cheerfully, "Well, Clara's got that habit of growing onto people. One of her better traits, I think. Or maybe not. It's up for debate." At this, to Clara's relief, everyone started to laugh – and the cheering only got louder when Rory emerged from the kitchen with a batch of holiday cookies.

After that, Clara realized, things were getting easier. Slowly but surely, the Doctor eased into a more comfortable setting. He made small talk with David, who was warmer than Clara last remembered. And then she noticed how he was sneaking glances at Rose in between snatches of conversations – and then she understood.

(And then it became even clearer when Martha caught Mickey, her husband, under the mistletoe.)

The rest of the night was something of a blur. Everyone went through the cookies Rory had made, and Jack had somehow gotten to the wine cabinet. Clara only had one glass before saying that she had enough – she didn't want to wake up with a hangover tomorrow. God knew she didn't need the stress of that.

So as everyone else was drunkenly commentating on _Home Alone_ (being played backwards, too), Clara headed up the stairs. She went to the bathroom first to adjust her dress – only, when she opened the door, she came to a quick stop to find the Doctor standing in front of her.

"Hi," Clara said in a small voice, tilting her head up so she'd be meeting his eyes. "Enjoying yourself?"

"It's better than I thought it'd be."

"Well, that's Amy for you. She's good at throwing parties. Rory's good at being the one to organize them. They make a good team that way."

"The decorations are festive."

"Mm, I think that's the point. It's a holiday party, after all." Clara closed the door behind herself, but neither of them moved down the hallway. Which Clara was fine with. She rested against the door, her hands pressed behind herself and her chin still tilted upwards. From here, Clara could make out a clear view of the Doctor's profile, even in the dim lighting.

Then, the Doctor flicked his eyes up.

Clara followed his gaze – and then, with a smile, she said quietly, "Holly."

"Ah. So you know it's not mistletoe."

"I know the difference." Clara gave the plant a wistful smile. "Had a bad experience with mistletoe when I was a teenager. Went to a party like this one, only with more beer than wine and more weed brownies than cookies. Well." She looked at the Doctor in the eye. "Her name was Nina. Kissed her in front of everyone – was teased about it for the rest of my sixth-form years. Parents didn't mind it so much, but Nina didn't believe in the word _bisexual_. Or the other kids, for that matter."

"So you don't really like mistletoe?"

Clara snorted. "Not with _that _memory engraved in my mind," she replied with a tsk. "Pity, too. I really liked Nina." She looked up at the holly again. "Huh," she breathed out, and started to move past –

The Doctor bent his head down and caught her lips quickly – almost so quickly that Clara hadn't even fully processed it until he was walking the other way.

* * *

**A/N - **Well, under-the-holly kisses are just as cute. Mistletoe can be overrated, anyways.

As always, reviews would be wonderful! I know there's more than two people reading this fic - so it would mean a lot if you just took the extra two seconds to tell me your thoughts. Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not!


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